


Royalty

by iisintrovert



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Harry is...perfect, Homophobia, Lucius is an asshole, Lucius uses the q-slur, M/M, Magic, Massage, No Hogwarts, Period-Typical Homophobia, Prince Draco Malfoy, Prince Harry Potter, Royalty, can u tell i hate lucius, could be triggering for abuse victims, gay thoughts, no bullying, or queer men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-12-06 02:46:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iisintrovert/pseuds/iisintrovert
Summary: Draco Malfoy has spent his entire life within the grounds of Malfoy Manor, studying magic and politics until the fated day where he is to take the throne - that is, until his parents insist that he must be married to a noblewoman at the age of seventeen. They organize a ball for all of the wealthy and powerful women of age in magical Europe.The only problem? Draco doesn't like women.alt summary (thanks Simon); im a prince. i’m gay. my parents have set me up with a princess to get married. you’re her hot brother. remember when i said that i was gay





	1. Chapter One: Silver

For the vast majority of his life, Draco could consider himself spoiled.

His bedroom was enormous and filled with everything he could need or want, his stables contained the fairest stallions for him to ride. He even had his own private bath house attached to his bedroom with lovely personal showers and soaking tubs filled with hot bubbly water. The Malfoy Manor was considered the peak of luxury. He’d spent his entire life there, never needing to beg or to steal to get what he desired.

And here he was, tears welled up in his eyes like the pathetic adolescent prince he was, because his parents had arranged for him to attend a ball with the sole purpose of finding him some frivolous little girl who wanted to be a princess.

When he first found out about their plans to marry him off, Draco sprinted up to the highest tower, flung open his bedroom door and threw himself into his cushions. He buried his nose in his blankets and curled in on himself. Panic welled up in his chest. He didn’t want to do this. He couldn’t do this. What did they expect from him, to find a girl he liked in one night? To marry her? To have _children_ with her? The thought made him want to throw up. Draco hed no interest in girls, despite how much they tried. Since he first turned thirteen, he’d been surrounded by other noble and royal families who wanted nothing more than to insert their eldest daughters into his home to gain information and riches. Draco had seen his fair share of beautiful girls.

Draco had cared for none of them. He hadn’t wasted away his teenage years looking for hookups like the few other nobles he knew. He was as virginal as Mary herself of his own choice. Girls never seemed to interest him enough. Some part of him had shoved these thoughts into the back of his head during his teenage years. Perhaps if he avoided any discussion of sexuality for the entirety of his parents lives, they would never need to know.

Surely, if his parents thought him miserable they would change their mind, right?

_Right?_

The thought had him rushing downstairs again. If he had half a brain, he would have sneered at himself. Princes don’t _rush._ Draco was neat and clean and remained in order because that was his _job._ He was reduced to a mess because of all of this. His clothes were wrinkled, there were red tear tracks on his face, and he had a pit of nerves in the center of his stomach. He was acting like some disappointed peasant.

_Surely_ his parents would see this. They loved him, right? Surely they didn’t want him to be miserable. Draco couldn’t remember a time in his life where he had been miserable.

Scratch that.

When he was twelve, his prize white stallion Salazar had died in a hunting accident. Sport hunting was a popular pastime for nobles and their influencers -- they’d all pack up with their guns and all their charms and fake smiles and run off on beautiful untrained horses to shoot blindly at some innocent deer in the forest.

Draco hated it. He would bite back tears and grit his teeth to look prim and proper and stoic, but he despised it all. Draco knew that he’d made the right decision to hate it when one day their group came close to actually killing a ten point buck. The leader of their group whooped with joy and the squad grew too excited. They lost control and began to rain bullets. His father and his horse were caught in the crossfire. Lucius Malfoy escaped with a brand new limp, but Salazar wasn’t as lucky.

Draco could remember that intense, cold pain of loss, the uncomfortable numbness of cotton filling his ribcage. He felt it now -- the loss of control over his own life.

The thought of marrying some girl who he didn’t care for, having children with her, it all made him feel just as disgusting and weak. He stole himself as he rushed down the spiral staircase. Draco grit his teeth and straightened his posture. He let the stiffness of his clothes guide his spine into a perfectly straight line, his hips in line, let the pace of his gait slow to a leisurely walk. He lifted his chin and smoothed out the high neckline.

The stiff jacket and pants were designed to encourage good posture. The clothes themselves were works of art -- dark grey and smooth with intricate silver laces that wound around his arms, calves, neck and collarbones. They were form fitting and covered every inch of skin from his wrists to his ankles to the slope of his neck. As a child he’d hated them for restricting movement, but now he was thankful for them. Even when he felt like falling apart the clothing was there to hold him in position and keep him from embarrassing himself.

Perhaps he should have remembered to put on his crown before he rushed off to find his parents. The delicate ring of silver that rested on his neatly trimmed hair always seemed to remind his parents of their stature. Draco though it looked quite beautiful on him as well, all silver and thin like himself with a single glittering emerald the size of a silver coin. The green brought out the sharp color in his eyes. He usually never wore the crown around the Manor unless he needed a confidence boost, or felt like feeling particularly powerful. He could use a little more confidence right now.

He traipsed through the maze of a castle, gritting his teeth and chewing at his bottom lip to keep himself grounded. The green and black carpet underfoot was soft and muffled any noise his heeled boots would make against the floor. The hall that led towards the throne room was lined with enchanted torches that gave off silvery blue light that reflected around the walls and floor. It reminded Draco of being underwater. He hadn’t swam in ages (it was improper for someone of royal blood to show so much skin outside) and he missed the feeling of cold water on his skin and the smell of clean outdoor air. This was the closest he could get.

It was gloomy, but perhaps that was his family’s aesthetic. It certainly felt that way.

When Draco finally arrived outside of the throne room, he took a moment to steal himself. He shifted from one foot to the other, took a few deep breaths, closed his eyes, and willed every ounce of emotion he had to disappear.

He threw open the large oak doors, strutted inside, and stopped dead in his tracks.

“Draco,” his father acknowledged him without really looking at him. He nodded towards the exit and peered back to his guest. “Please leave, your mother and I are having a very important meeting with Mister Nicholas.”

Draco sucked in another breath and willed his voice to stay even. “I need to talk to you immediately. It’s urgent.”

He cheered internally when his voice came out clear and calm. He almost managed to sound _bored._

Lucius Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. He swept his hair over one shoulder and stared Draco down, as if finally noticing that he was there.”

“Draco --”

He shifted onto the balls of his feet and rocked forward. “I’d like you to cancel the ball.”

One could have heard Draco’s wand drop to the plush carpet in the silence that ensued after that.

His father looked shocked, judging from the deep furrow that ran across his forehead and the sneer twisting his mouth. “You’d _what?_ ”

Draco found himself faltering. His hands shook visibly, so much so that he struggled to stuff them into his pockets. “I’d like to focus on studying right now. I’ll be a wizard of age in a few months, and I’d like to master magic before I take on a family.”

“Are you not already a master?”

Draco’s breath hitched. He bit down on the inside of his cheek.

Lucius stood up and shoved his chair back. The black robes he wore shrouded his form in a deadly shadow. He strutted forward until he was mere inches away from his son. Draco did all he could to keep his back from snapping like a bowstring under the pressure.

“Draco, will you listen to me?” Lucius asked -- it was not a request, but a command.

“Father.” He nodded, bowing his head just enough to appear polite, but stiff.

“It’s your duty to carry on our family legacy.” his father sneered at him. “Don’t embarrass us any further. You will attend the ball, you will stay there all night if we wish you to. You will find a girl you like or we will pick one for you. That is final.”

Draco felt his skin grow hot. His face was burning up with embarrassment and frustration, his hands shook at his sides as he balled them into fists. “But… I don’t wish to --”

“ _Draco,_ if you tell your mother and I that you do not wish to marry a beautiful women of power right now, we will be forced to think you a _queer_ and banish you from the estate. Is that what you want?”

He let out a defeated breath. “No, father.” He sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

His father gave him one last cruel smile, before he patted him on the cheek and turned on his heels. His robes fanned out behind him like a dementor’s cloak. Draco shivered at the thought. With his last remaining shred of dignity, Draco walked outside into the hallway and began to sprint up towards his bedroom.

When Draco arrived, out of breath and panting with panic and exhaustion, he couldn’t hold back the tears rushing down his face. He fell to his knees on his carpet and braced his forehead against the ground. _In, out, in,_ he told himself. His breath was shaky and shallow. His chest felt like it was caving in, like someone was sitting on it as he punched at them and struggled to breathe.

He sat there for an indeterminable amount of time as he tried to catch his breath and return to his own head. His thoughts swam in and out of his consciousness. When he was finally aware enough to recognize them, another wave of icy cold panic ran through him.

_You’ll have to do it. They’ll force you too. Either you’ll marry a woman or you’ll be thrown out forever._

Draco choked back a sob. He was too busy being furious to scold himself for being pathetic.

He pulled himself off of the floor and brushed the dust off of his knees with trembling hands. His bedroom seemed cooler than usual -- the castle was enchanted and filled with fireplaces, but none of that heat seemed to be able to find its way to him. Draco toed off his boots and fell on his four-poster bed in his clothes, buried his face in his covers and nuzzled into the pillows. After what felt like an eternity, he found himself completely empty and numb.

He sat in bed for so long that the silver lacing of his jacket began to dig into his bicep and Adam’s apple. Draco sat up and ran both hands through his hair. In an absent haze, he began to undo each and every lacing in his clothes. It was a painstaking task that he usually requested a servant to help him with -- all of the lacing and unlacing, really the lacing shouldn’t have been made so intricately, it was impractical -- but there were moments like this where he prefered to be alone. The eerily quiet presence of a maid or servant in his bedroom at this hour, with his mood the numb terrified slump that it was, would just be uncomfortable. He allowed himself to get out of his head in the time it took to undo his jacket and pants.

In that time, he decided one thing. No matter what his father said, no matter what his supposed duty was supposed to be, he would not allow himself to be miserable for his entire life. He’d rather pitch himself out his own bedroom window. No, there was one thing for sure.

He had to figure out a plan.

~~~~~~

The Big Event was scheduled for Seven o’clock on Sunday night. That gave Draco approximately a week to prepare for his imminent future, his life with a wife and a bundle of appropriate heirs, and perhaps a lovely seaside cottage with lots of windows.

Needless to say, Draco was sulking.

The week before the ball was torture. Not only was he being forced to go through all of this, but the stress of not knowing how to get out of it was tearing him apart. Usually he could hide away. This wasn’t even close to the first ball or party he’d be forced to attend, in fact it wasn’t even the first where he was the intended main event. It was, however, the first where people would actually be paying attention to him. Birthday dances and family gatherings usually had the front of celebration, but growing up in politics Draco knew that the adults in the business cared much more about learning the secrets of his family's wealth and success. Sure, there were a few with daughters who had watched him with a careful eye to see if he was ready to lead their legacy as his father had, but most were more concerned with having fake and polite conversations with his parents. 

This time, all eyes would be on him. They would be watching his every move. He couldn’t sneak out through the gardens and wait out the ball in the rafters of his horse’s stall with a good book and a bottle of wine. Every guest would be there with the intention of forcing a woman on him. 

Draco spent his free time hiding out in his room with a pile of books, practicing spells and plotting. His frustrated scowl had etched itself into his face and felt like it would never leave. 

After a few days of this, being ignored by his father and some pleading from his mother, she finally managed to convince him to come down to get fitted. 

There was no _real_ need for him to be fitted with another outfit just for the ball. He typically wore what was considered dress clothes around the house. He had plenty of sets in his family’s colors, even a few with their crest -- two intertwined emerald snakes in the shape of an “S” -- stitched into the back and breast pocket. Draco knew this, but he allowed his mother to coax him downstairs anyway. The fact that he hadn't eaten a full meal in two days also helped to convince him. 

So that's how he spent his day, half a week before a suitor would be chosen -- standing on a pedestal with swatches of dark clothing pinned to his underclothes as his mother and their tailor squabbled about texture and color. 

His mother called the tailor in from the city. She was an older woman who had a lot of experience in their family. A few of Draco’s favorite suits had come from her store, so she should have his sizes on record, but it became apparent as she dressed him in an older model that he’d grown a few inches taller in the past year.

Madam Hawkins arrived in the morning, a wad of folded cloth and tools strapped to her broad shoulders. She ordered Draco up onto a wooden stand and manhandled his arms and legs around until she could get at all of his angles. Draco did as he was told. Nobles were expected to never become frustrated or irritable, and although he was incredibly indignant about standing still and having an old bat flit around him and touch him, he would never show it. He breathed easy and pretended like nothing in the world could bother him.

About an hour passed before she was able to peel what would become his pants from his frame and pack them away. She ushered his mother away to discuss pricing and other meaningless things, like the type of stitch she should use where his ass would be, or if she should use a shade of silver that was indistinguishable from the others. Draco let his shoulders and arms drop to his sides. His biceps ached. At this point, his arms would be too thick to fit into the jacket when the ball came.

He slumped where he stood and turned around on the shaky wooden stand, when he heard a set of accented and unfamiliar voices growing closer.

Draco peered over his shoulder, his posture relaxed to appear casual, and made sure that the room was empty except for him. As soon as he was sure that no one was watching, Draco hopped down from the wooden stand and hightailed it into the corner near the draped tapestry that lined the wall. He scooted behind the thick cloth and pressed his body flat against the brick. He was skinny enough -- he hoped -- that he would be invisible under the cover of the tapestry.

He sucked in a deep breath and held it as a few sets of footsteps and an echoing voice led in from the outer hallway.

“... is one of the family rooms. As you can see we have a tapestry with the Malfoy family tree.” The guests hummed in agreement.

The leader of this impromptu tour was Sergio, one of their servants. Malfoy smiled. He thought Sergio was (dare he say)cool. He was tall as a beanstalk and just as thin, with a sharp boyish face and a quirky smile. He was one of the only servants who’d worked for them who still had a bit of wit left in him. Draco suspected his mother was too fond of him to fire him, even after the few stunts he’s pulled.

Sergio continued on with the tour as usual and them out into the courtyard. Draco slinked out from behind the tapestry to eye at their two guests.

Draco didn’t recognize them. Their robes were different from what he’d seen before, more similar to the old fashioned wizard clothes in the children’s books he had tucked away in the library. Their skin was darker, too. Perhaps where they lived it was warmer. Maybe that explained the thinner cloth.

Unless…

Draco dug his nails into his palms. Oh no.

Oh _no._

They were foreign. They were probably diplomats, foreign diplomats that his father had called in for a reason. His father wouldn’t just do that to show off, or to strengthen trade bonds, no -- he was too smug for that. He would jump at the chance to to show others just how rich and powerful he was, but those people were no threat to them. They were too busy leading their own areas and reservations.

They weren’t just marrying him off. They were _sending_ him off.

Typically the new bride of a young man would live with her husband’s family, or in a new house attached to their family’s estate until her husband was ready to take control of the business. But if they were bringing in the powerhouses, foreign nobles and kings with princesses and contracts and agreements and money hungry hands… Draco was doomed. 

He was humble (well, as humble as a prince could be) but he knew his own power. A foreign diplomat in the hands of another’s family would be an addition to their power and their business.

They were going to try to use him as a chess piece in their wizarding business game.  
He was just a valuable pawn that they were ready to ship off to strengthen some bond that would guarantee both sides handfuls of galleons. And for _what?_ Pride?

Draco’s heart started beating so fast he could feel it snapping against his ribcage. He pressed his palm flat against his chest. He was sure that if he looked in the mirror, his face would be as pale as a sheet of parchment.

It was in that moment that his mother and Madam Hawkins decided to step back into the tapestry room. “Draco? What’s wrong?” His mother asked upon seeing his expression.

“Nothing, mother.” he choked out. His voice sounded clipped and worn to its very edges. “I swallowed a sip of water and it went down the wrong part of my throat.”

Narcissa lifted her chin and huffed. “Well then, get back on the stand! We’re not finished yet.”

Draco did as he was told. He willed his heart to slow, and dissolved into numb terror.

No matter what decision he would make, he’d be forced to leave.

~~~~~~

After the past two days, Draco was really fucking tired of being numb.

So, naturally, he decided to spend that afternoon in the barn, hacking apart a straw dummy with his sword. 

He was familiar with the blade -- it was about a meter long, made of thin tempered steel, engraved with the family crest and a hilt of emerald. The weight was familiar and steady in his palm. The tension that grew in his shoulders and forearms as he wielded the blade started to relieve the tension that built up in his head.

Draco spent about an hour in the stables by himself, slicing and rolling around in the hay as he panted and raged on and on until he couldn’t take it any more. When his head finally grew clear enough for him to think without panicking, he fell back on his ass and kicked away from the shredded dummy in front of him. He dropped his sword at his side, where it clattered to the ground. The straw was crisp and clean, so he fell back and flopped against the ground, his limbs spread out like a starfish. Draco peered up through the cracks in the rafters at the stars in the sky. Since when was it so late? How long had he been there?

Draco didn’t have the answers.

He didn’t have any answers. His thought were too preoccupied with fear and stress and the possibilities -- he hadn’t eaten dinner or lunch yet, and he wasn’t aware of his body enough to feel the hunger. Taking care of himself had taken a back seat to figuring out what the hell was going to happen to him.

A few things were certain. One: his parents didn’t care much for his personal happiness. They thought they knew what was best for him, and they believed that the best place for him was to be at the hand of some powerhouse who wanted to use him to make money.

Two: foreign diplomats, nobles, and royalty all had their eye on him. He would never be able to escape that. As soon as they discovered that he was available for the taking, he would never be able to find peace. They would stop at nothing to have him. That only meant that the upcoming ball was just the beginning of it all.

And, finally, three: he was incredibly queer, and the thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman who couldn’t truly care for him sent waves of pain and horror through his veins, made his fingers tingle with nerves, and his stomach turn in disgust.

He was sure of it. He had to run away. He had to escape, he had to leave and never come back --

Draco found himself in the doorway of the stables with one bare foot out in the grass, the other ready to spring outside. His sword was tucked into his belt and his hands were clenched in angry fists. He was ready to leave -- his whole body was wound up like a coil ready to explode outwards, his mind a whirlwind of turmoil, his lungs suffocating under the weight of his duty -- but part of him was struggling against his mind. A part of him kept him tethered there. It tied him to the Malfoy manor. 

Draco fell to his knees and peered up at the stars over the treeline. The forest that surrounded

It was all so _stupid._ Why hadn’t he realized this sooner? He needed to have skills -- real, actual skills, not what he’d learned after years of growing up in a wealthy family as a prince of a large province -- to survive as a peasant. Nothing of what he knew was useful. He couldn’t craft anything besides a halfway decent drawing, couldn’t do any hard labour without complaining or growing ill, he couldn’t even take care of his own appetite.

He pounded his fist into the ground. His parents had raised him for having this one purpose in life. He was so dumb for not noticing it sooner. Perhaps if he’d known a year in advance that he was destined for this he would have been able to plan for it, to figure out how to tell his parents without them hating him, to _escape,_ somehow, but no. No, his pathetically queer self had always imagined that he’d find a handsome young diplomat who’d sweep him off his feet and lead him into a life by the ocean.

That was so _stupid_ of him. Draco grit his teeth and stole himself.

This was his duty. He had a responsibility to do what was best for his family, regardless of what he wanted. He was a prince, and that meant a life of luxury, but it also meant a life of unending duty and commitment to his family. If they needed him for this, it was his only choice. His childhood was over. In a few months, he would be a legal man. He would be married soon after. Those were the facts. He was no longer a snot nosed kid with fantasies of growing old with some cute boy to call his own and a bushy dog to protect him. From now on out, he had to act as if his province rested on his shoulders. He had to act like a proper king.

It stung him, oh _god_ did it sting, but he could bear it. He always had.

Even after he made this self resolution, Draco couldn’t shake the sensation of dread that lurked just over his shoulder.

~~~~~~

No matter how hard he dug his heels in, the dance snuck up behind him and arrived precisely at Seven on Sunday night.

Draco put off getting ready until he only had fifteen minutes left and his mother was pounding on his door.

He lifted his head from his mattress and peered across his room at his full-body mirror in the corner. He looked atrocious. Perfect.

Draco rolled out of bed and strutted over to his door to throw it open for his mother. Narcissa looked at him with an interesting combination of surprise and terror.

“Are you… have you gotten ready at all?!” she exclaimed, her voice betraying the stress that she usually kept completely under wraps.

Draco shrugged. “I’m well rested, aren’t I?”

Narcissa shook her head and stared at the ceiling. “Draco, I know you’re angry at us enacting control over you, but this is all for the best! Why are you being so stubborn? Do you wish to pick a peasant as your wife like in the children’s books?!”

He sat back against his bed and raked his hands through his hair. The blond strands piled on top of his head, wavy and unruly instead of neat, straight, and pulled back against his scalp as expected of him. Draco hoped that his musings would ruin any chance of styling it last minute. Perhaps if he was ugly enough, no one would want to marry him. “No, mother. I just do not wish to have a wife.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. “You _know_ that it’s dangerous to talk like that. Why must you taunt your father and I with suggestions of that sort?”

Draco closed his eyes and tried to bite back a remark. Fuck his parents and their close-minded, holier-than-thou manner. He hated it all. So much for unconditional love.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he took the suit she had wrapped away in a protective leather cover, and ushered her out the door so he could change.

He pulled the clothes over his form. As much as he hated it, Madam hawkins had a lovely style. When Draco peered up at himself in the mirror he was pleasantly surprised.

He actually thought he looked… nice. The pants were slim fitting and hugged his ankles like he liked, and the suit jacket was tailored so it cinched at his waist and fell past the curve of his hips. Growing up he used to hate the slight feminine swell of his hips, but standing in the mirror with his jacket buttoned to his throat and the silver threading of his suit, he thought the femininity… dare he say, _hot._

 

He frowned. This wasn’t really what he was going for.

Perhaps if he looked queer enough, no woman would go near him. Women typically refrained from trying to marry homosexual men.

Draco sighed and shook his head. He didn’t have control over others, their thoughts of him, or, apparently, what they decided to do with him. He would have to stick to his original plan; find someone intelligent and easy to talk to, develop a friendship, and ask to add the mutually beneficial title of “married” to their relationship. For all he knew, there would be a queer girl in the same position as him. That seemed to be the best case scenario, at this point.

Draco sat down at his desk, took one look at his hair, and decided to throw his crown on directly on top of it. There was no need to fix it. It looked good how it was, even if it was rumpled and messy. That just added to the look he was going for.

In a final moment of spitefulness, Draco threw open one of his drawers and pulled out a small bottle of gold paste. It would contrasted nicely with his family’s green and silver 

With the makeup on his face, his perfect suit, and rumpled hair piled with his silver crown, he not only looked stunning and unapproachable, but delightfully queer.

Take _that._

Draco threw his door open and walked past his mother without acknowledging her. She stalked after him and yammered about etiquette and their plan for the evening, but Draco didn’t hear a word she said.

The trek down to the ballroom was a short one -- through the main, sunny halls of the castle until he reached the smaller, shallower rooms filled with enchanted torches. Draco took this time in the empty enclosed space to suck in a few more nervous breaths. He couldn’t reveal a single ounce of anxiety if he wanted his ‘plan’ to work.

_You can do this. You’ll end up okay. Be a fucking adult about it._

Draco shook his head. He wasn’t going to talk to himself tonight. He had enough pride for that. He walked down the wide set of stairs with his chin held high and his back as straight as his parents wished he was.

If there was one thing he took away from the sight of the ballroom with all of its glory, it was that the grandeur was unnecessary. The ballroom was already full of dancing people and servants bustling around in prim silver and black uniforms.

The windows were covered in ten-foot high white lace and gold netting, the glass frosted magically. The fires that were placed strategically gave off a cool glow and little heat. Draco was thankful for that -- the formalities were to be stuffling enough, no need to add extra heat to the situation. Draco resisted the urge to pull at his collar at the thought.

Torches lined the ceiling, as well as enchanted floating candles that gave off silvery light and seemed to glitter when you looked too closely. Really, his father had gone all out. It was no surprise to Draco. Master Malfoy took every chance to show off the family colors. Draco, of course, thought it was preposterous. Why would they want to blend into the decorum?

Draco caught sight of a flash of olive and silver and immediately turned the other direction. His father was there, chatting it up like he usually did at these events. Draco’s stomach turned at the thought of wearing a suit that completely matched his father’s. No one else would dare to wear formal robes or dresses in silver and green at a Malfoy party, so, of course, they would be the only people who seemed to coordinate.

Draco took his last deep breath to steal himself, before he straightened his shoulders and walked over to greet his father.He hadn’t talked to the man in three days, despite living in the same castle as him. His excuse was the same, after all these years: _it is quite a large castle, father._

He walked up behind his father -- careful not to tread on his sweeping green cape -- and planted a hand on his shoulder. Lucius Malfoy turned around in an instant.

“Draco!” He exclaimed, a false smile staining his face. The man he was talking to turned to him and bowed so low that the tip of his small nose might have smudged against his shined brown boots.

“The man of the hour,” his father continued. “I’m so glad I caught you this early in the night. Any later and you would have been caught up in dancing with some beautiful girl, hm?”

Draco looked his father between the eyes and gave his best fake smile. “Of course, sir. You know me. Always dancing, especially with girls.”

His father’s grin faltered for a second. He grabbed Draco’s elbow -- the elbow dressed in fine cloth that should _not_ be wrinkled, thank you very much -- and tugged him harshly backwards. “Excuse me Ludo, I have to have a word with my son.”

This was not a question, but an order formed in steel and laced with poison.

Draco said a number of unspeakable things inside his head as his father dragged him away.

As soon as they were far enough away from the watchful eye of Lord Bagman, Lucius towered over his son and placed both hands on Draco’s shoulder, as if pretending to smooth out any wrinkles he might have left there. His father planted his hand on his back and pulled him forward by his shoulder blade, his fingers digging into his skin even through his black gloves and the layers of Draco’s new jacket and undershirt.

“If you try anything tonight,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “You will never see the light of day. You will be gone from this castle and locked away and I will never see you again. This is your duty, son. Do not ruin this for our family”

Draco nodded. He swallowed, hard, and met his father’s eyes. “I would never,” he promised.

“Good. Just between us, we’ve just received a wonderful offer from a Bulgarian King about his daughter.”

He hated how his father said “we,” as if he should be involved with the arrangements of Draco’s marriage.

His father let him go with a fake smile and ushered him to walk down the stairs towards the main dance floor.

Draco closed his eyes just for a moment as he strutted down the stairs. _Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak out…_

~~~~~~

His (admittedly small) group of friends was there. Draco immediately stalked through the crowd to meet them. Gregory, the bumbling idiot himself, clapped him on the back. “Lookin’ good, mate!” he said. Pansy chattered in agreement. 

Draco smiled up at his friend fondly. He wasn’t particularly smart, but he was good company, and would stick up for his friends no matter what. Draco appreciated his bluntness. Nobles who would tell you what they actually thought were hard to come by.

He stood with them until the stares of everyone in the ballroom became too hard to handle. Draco busied himself by the refreshments -- servants were at his elbow to hand him champagne every moment, but he tried not to drink what others offered him. He was a prince, after all. He poured himself a hearty helping of rosea, downed the whole of it with a flourish, and let himself be led into the circle of dancers.

The music would have been nice, if it wasn’t for the constant chatter in his left ear. It was hard to find a time where there wasn’t a girl on his arm, batting up at him with silly enhanced eyelashes and pink cheeks. After half an hour of dancing nonstop, being traded off like a particularly interesting ornament, and talking with a generous handful of girls, Draco’s head was swimming. He stepped away from the circle even as someone reached for his elbow, blinking furiously and digging his fingernails into his palms. Even after concentrating he couldn’t remember the name of a single girl he’d just danced with. And if he was correctly estimating the amount of people there, he wasn’t even halfway through. 

The girls here were doing their best to sweep him off his feet. Quite frankly, it was exhausting.

He was standing by a round refreshments table, nibbling on a bit of bruschetta with a glass of wine held delicately in one hand, when he felt yet another hand tapping him on the shoulder. Draco groaned internally, took another swig, and turned on his heels.

“Look, I’d love to, but I’m dead on my feet from all of the dancing. Perhaps we could just…” Draco looked down into her eyes, and paused. “Talk?”

She was tall and slim, with very dark skin and a curly mane of hair that fanned out over her shoulders. Draco raised an eyebrow at her words. He knew exactly who she was -- with her complexion, hair, and the slight lilt of her accent, the girl must be the daughter of one of the diplomats.

That, and the taller, broader boy who stood behind her, who seemed to peering at Draco with a watchful eye from behind his glasses. Draco raked his eyes over the boys form. His robes were not unlike the ones he saw on the diplomats who had originally toured the castle with Sergio, but they fell against his frame in a way that was much more appealing. A pair of round glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. He also had softer, darker hair, a shorter nose, and a nice shade of olive skin that altogether was _incredibly_ attractive. Fuck.

Draco tore his eyes away from the man and bowed, one hand outstretched to take her hand (and do what? Kiss it like a ninny?). Instead of placing her wrist in his grasp she gripped his hand back and gave him a firm shake.

“Hermione Granger,” she said, her shoulders square. Draco decided immediately that she was cool.

His lip quirked in a small grin. He returned her handshake. “Draco Malfoy. And you?” he nodded towards the man.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m her adopted brother, her chaperone for the night.” He crossed his arms over his chest -- it was a _very nice_ chest, mind you, especially with fine robes stretched across it -- and met Draco’s eyes with a steely green gaze. “I’m here to make sure you and your family don’t get into any...trouble.”

He said the word “trouble” as one might say “vicious felonies and crimes against humankind.”

“I can assure you, that won’t be a problem.” Draco reached out to shake his hand as well, but the man just looked away and sighed.

_Who pissed in his champagne?_

Draco turned back to Hermione, who had her arms crossed in front of her as well and was regarding her adopted brother with a mixture of frustration and fondness. “Don’t mind Harry,” she told him, rolling her eyes. “He’s unnecessarily protective.”

“I see.”

Hermione gave him a wry grin and spoke shortly and sweetly. “Our guardians intend for us to marry.”

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. _Fuck it._ “I assure you it will be quite difficult.”

Hermione snorted. ( _Snorted._ What kind of royal witch snorted when she laughed? Then again, what kind of prince wizard was queer?) “They believe that with you, they will be able to gain money for both families. But…” she gestured wildly at the decorum of the ball around them. “I’m not sure they need it.”

With a shrug, Draco relaxed back against the refreshments table and nursed at his glass of rosea. “The grandeur of it all seemed unnecessarily, but I guess with selling off me, they’ll have enough money to reimburse themselves tenfold.”

The girl huffed and stuck her nose out, a scowl setting itself in the curve of her brow. “I don’t like the destiny my ‘parents’ set up for me either.”

“What makes you say _I_ don’t like it?”

“Oh _please,_ ” Harry spoke up. He looked Draco up and down. “You reek of frustration. You hate it here, you hate all of the girls, and you hate your father. Anyone with half a brain can see from miles away. Hermione here has a bit more brain than the average witch or wizard.”

Most people would have been offended. Draco was forced to stifle a laugh. “Well, let’s be glad that most people here haven’t half a brain!”

That seemed to surprise Harry, but the man did his best not to show it. He rubbed at the back of his head with his palm and straightened his glasses on his face -- they had gone a bit askew during his outburst. From what little he’d said already, Draco though he seemed a bit like an annoying git. Still, Draco could appreciate anyone who was willing to talk to him without dancing, and without the intention of marrying him off.

He tipped his head back and swallowed the last of his drink. The fluid in his veins was growing hot, and he found more energy in the pit of his stomach. Draco didn’t usually drink. He hated the fuzzy feeling it gave his head, and the way it made his heart pound. Tonight was an exception. It was an exception to a lot of things.

In his fuzziness, Draco failed to notice a dancing couple as they drew closer. He sat down at the table just as they broke away from the circle of the others and waltzed closer, inch by inch. His head was tipped back to stare up at the ceiling.

The silver candles gave off this lovely, sparkly iridescence that made the ceiling look like the bottom of a swimming pool filled with grey glitter. Draco was mesmerized -- the sight looked especially beautiful to his swimming vision.

Draco experienced only muted alarm when he discovered that he could not move a muscle.

Someone was saying his name. Perhaps it was Hermione. Or was it Harry? He couldn’t tell. Everything sounded the same: too loud.

The dancing couple drew closer still. The man pulled a hood over his head and shoved away his dancing partner. A single moment passed before she let out a bloodcurdling scream, and a glint of tempered silver shined in their eyes.

Draco could not move from his seat. He struggled to keep his eyes open as the man made a dash for him, lifted his weapon high, he was going to die he was going to _die_ \--

A dark mass swooped in front of him like a shadow. Another yell pierced the air. Draco sucked in one breath after another, his swirling brain attempting to comprehend what was going on in front of him. Finally, after a what felt like ages of struggling, he managed to process the sight of a hooded figure lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, and the stranger -- Harry -- standing in front of him.

The knife jutted out from his thigh. Harry stared down at it in shock as dark blood began to spread and make a wet black stain on his trousers.

Draco saw a swirling pattern of blood red. He watched with muted horror as Harry looked up from his wound and into his eyes. Harry’s face swam in his blurry vision. Draco blinked, hard, as he struggled to make a single sound.

In some miracle, Draco regained just enough range of motion to twist in his chair and throw up violently into a bowl of olives, before passing out on the floor.


	2. Chapter Two: Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yall!!! I'm lovin it. Thank you for reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whenever a character says "that's rough" you can garunfuckintee it's supposed to be an Avatar - the last airbender reference.

“Drugged! _Drugged!_ What brute has the utter nerve to sneak into a party and drug the crown prince!”

Something in the very back of his head recognized that voice. He heard a tinge of worry -- or was that fear? Perhaps they were just tired as well. They needed to sleep. Draco needed to sleep. Sleep. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea.

As Draco came to, his head throbbed with white hot pain. He struggled to peel his eyes open -- they were crusted at his eyelashes with tear salt -- and the effort of it was almost to exhausting for him to manage. He blinked once, twice, thrice, before the world around him transformed from a blurry mess into a pristine white room.

He sat up immediately, and almost tossed again.

Draco clutched his stomach and tried to keep whatever he had left inside his stomach from exiting his body. There wasn’t much, he could tell, as soon as he came to his stomach began to rumble. The faint noise was too much for his ears.

He groaned and fell back against the white mattress and sheets below him. He was still dressed in his suit from the ball. The fabric was almost, dare he say, _crunchy_ with sweat. His eyes felt like they were ringed with dust -- or was that the remains of the gold eyeliner?

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a flash of white movement in the corner of his eye. His head whipped to the side. A witch with a nurse’s uniform was making herself busy at a small table, mixing potions with her long, knobbly wand sticking out of her back pocket.

Though his throat was cacked and tasted foul from dehydration, he croaked out the first thing on his mind. “What happened?”

The nurse pressed herself against the table and placed a hand on her heart. She looked at Draco with wild eyes, her brows drawn up in the center of her forehead. She had quite bushy eyebrows, and a kind, round face. Draco blinked once more.

“Oh my goodness, you’re awake!” the witch murmured. She grabbed her wand and tapped a few times at the green bottle in her hand, a sharp incantation on her lips. “Thank --”

Draco waved her away. “What’s going on? Why a I here?” His eyebrows shot into his hairline. _“Harry?”_

The witch giggled. “Oh, don’t worry, Harry will be fine. He’s much stronger than you are. Really, what have they been feeding you?”

“Lies,” Draco spit out.

The witch forced the bottle to his lips and tilted his head back. “Drink.”

He did as he was told. The liquid was startlingly sweet with a bitter undercut, like flavoured alcohol -- the thought of alcohol made his stomach do backflips inside him. Draco groaned as he downed the rest of it. His stomach was threatening to turn itself inside out again.

The witch gave him a hearty pat on the back. Draco flinched at the feeling of the cloth on his back rubbing against his skin. Really, how long had it been since he showered? He must look awful.

The witch sat down on the corner of his medical cot. The slight shift of his mattress sent his gut sprawling once more. Draco must have turned a bit green, because the nurse apologized and patted his knee.

“You must be wondering why you’re here,” she said, her voice dripping with sympathy.

_Yeah, no shit._ Draco thought to himself. _I just asked you that._

His throat was so dry from the potion that he didn’t have enough left in him to speak.

“You were poisoned.” The witch continued. “Everyone’s in a fuss. The aurors came to have a look see, but they haven’t been helpful. At least, that’s what your parents are saying. That whole ball was for you, Eh? You must be a lucky man. What do you think?”

Draco thought that she talked too much. He would have told her that, if he didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to. Instead, he gestured at his throat and mimed taking a sip from a cup.

“Oh! You’re thirsty!” the witch exclaimed. “I’m so sorry. When we found out you were poisoned, we had to get all the fluids out of you. I don’t know if I’m allowed to give you any yet, the spell might not have gone through all the way.”

Draco fixed her with an evil glare. She visibly shrank, her posture twisting inward like a startled insect. She looked over her shoulder and checked the closed door of the infirmary -- that was where they were, if Draco was correct. With a shaky sigh, she stood up from her seat on his mattress and walked over to the table in the corner. She handed Draco a glass of water.

He was gulping it down before she even let go of it. The fluid was cold and blissful against his dry throat. He practically moaned as he topped off the glass.

Draco turned and, for the second time that week, violently threw up.

He heaved for a few moments, his head swimming as tears welled up in his eyes. The witch in the corner clucked her tongue. 

“Really, I told you that you shouldn’t ‘ve.”

Draco rolled his eyes. His nose scrunched up at the sting of acid in the back of his throat. Disgusting.

“Where’s Harry?” he hissed out.

“In another infirmary room, down the hall --”

Draco was out the door before she could finish her sentence.

~~~~~~

Finding Harry’s room wasn’t that difficult. All the other rooms had wide open doors and mediwizards buzzing around, visitors lined up or waiting in the plastic chairs set up. There was only one, at the very end of the hall, with the words “OCCUPIED - DO NOT ENTER” etched across the door.

Draco entered.

When he pushed open the door, his sensitive brain was greeted with the gentle stimulation of a few mediwizards yelling their head off. They surrounded Harry, pressing against his sides to hold him down as the one who seemed to be in charge waved their wand in a strange swirling pattern over his body. Harry himself was pinned down against the cot, naked except for a pair of black boxer briefs and a thick white bandage that covered the stab wound on his thigh. His chest heaved as he panted and struggled mindlessly against his restraints. His head tossed from side to side -- he looked a bit different without his glasses. His eyebrows appeared more prominent. Draco noticed a red mark across his forehead.

He looked… well, he hated to admit it, but he looked _good._ Not that he looked particularly bad with his glasses on, but… still. Draco’s brow furrowed.

The lead mediwizard finished their incantation and Harry cried out in pain. Draco winced at the sound.

His view was obstructed as a nurse stepped in front of him and shoved him out the door, slamming it behind them.

“He will be alright soon, Master Malfoy, I’m simply not allowed to let any guests in for the time being.”

Draco fumed. “Alright?! He looked terrible! What are you doing to him?”

The nurse planted both hands on her hips. “There was poison on the knife. We didn’t know until recently when he started showing the symptoms. His immune system put up quite a fight, unlike yours.”

He frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. Nurses and mediwizards were supposed to be more trained than this. They should be able to recognize the signs of poisoning before the patient is in mortal peril. Really, if they were any dumber, Harry would be dead.

Draco scowled and turned on his heel without answering. He crossed his arms and fumed. His blood was still boiling. He was sure that his cheeks were turning pink, or maybe that was just the heat in his blood rising -- either way, he was _mad_ and he wasn’t going to leave until he was sure that the mediwizards were competent enough to keep Harry alive.

He decided that he would wait until the medi wizards were done. He owed it to the man that he thank him. If Harry hadn’t reacted that quickly, well...he might not even be here.

Really, Draco overestimated his own capabilities. 

~~~~~~

Draco woke up with a start, his back pressed against one of the plastic chairs in the hallway of the infirmary. His neck and back ached from being pressed in the strange position, his legs were numb from falling asleep sitting up. His eyes burned. Draco reached up to scrub at them with the backs of his hands. It seemed to be night time. No light filtered in from the windows on either side. It wasn’t as busy as before, but there were still a number of patrons waiting outside of the various rooms that lined the hall.

A hand gripped his elbow, and Draco realized what had woken him up in the first place.

He turned to see his mother peering down at him, a sour expression on her face. She tugged him up by his bicep.

“What is it mother?” He could hear the sleep in his own voice through his tired ears.

Narcissa patted his cheek fondly. “Come, Draco. We need to go him.

“Can’t,” he slurred, blinking repeatedly. “I have to make sure he’s okay, an’ … and thank him.”

His mother clicked her tongue. She tugged at his collar. His clothes were wrinkled, ruined with sweat and runs from sleeping in them. There was a questionable stain by his left knee that looked suspiciously like what he’d tossed into a bowl of olives the night before.

“Please, mum.” Draco mumbled. He was set on thanking the man, even if he was a bit of a prat. He would do it for Hermione, himself even. All he knew was that he had to see him again ( _talk_ to him again, Draco). “Aren’t we supposed to be polite to the foreign guests?”

“I’m sure he’ll manage.” Narcissa placed her other hand on his shoulder and made him look up and into her eyes. “Please, Draco. You need to get cleaned up.”

He scowled. Really, he didn’t look _that_ bad, when compared to a hot pile of garbage.

With a sigh, Draco took his mother’s arm and followed her out the door.

~~~~~~

His mother was right about one thing -- Draco could use a bath.

The room attached to his own contained a large, three foot deep pool about the size of a dinner table, a small waterfall, and a mirror that covered the entire opposite wall. A few vined plants hung from the ceiling in glass boxes suspended by silver ropes. There were no windows, only a few vents in the brick roof.

One of their servants ran his tub as he relaxed against the wall, itching to peel off the fabric that was stuck to his skin. They filled the wide soaking pool with scalding water, just the way he liked it, and threw in some lavender. That was likely a request from his mother. He smiled as the man sprinkled the sprigs of flower over the thin bubbles that rose to the surface. It was _so_ like Narcissa to go to minute means to reduce his stress. Even if she happened to be one of the causes of his stress.

After the bath was ready and the servant had hurried out the small door in the back, Draco tore his clothes from his frame and dove into the water.

He let out a groan at the feeling of the hot water against his skin. He felt cleaner already. He dunked his head under the water and kept himself there, his breath held in a knot in his chest. He blew a few bubbles from his nose. He tipped his head back and let out a breathy laugh as the water flowed over his face. It felt like it had been forever since he’d taken a decent bath without just rushing through the steps and getting it over with.

Draco sat on the smooth tile so the water flowed over his shoulders. He felt incredibly small in such a big tub. His shoulders seemed even thinner than usual, not that that was surprising. He’d always been skinny. Even now, at sixteen, his chest was nearly concave and he had practically no muscle mass, save for what he’d built up in swordplay. He scrubbed at his nose and eyelids with a washcloth to rub the sweat, grease, and remaining makeup from his face.

The water was so hot that it turned his skin pink. Draco ducked under the waterfall on the far side of the soaking pool and tipped his head back so the hot water could run through his hair. He turned, running his hands over his chest and stomach as he scrubbed away the sweat that had built up.

He could see the flush on his own face in the mirror across from him, the droplets of water streaming down his front, and the jut of his hipbones against the ripples in the water. With the way he was kneeling on the tile, the water only just reached his bellybutton.

_Come on, Draco, don’t be pathetic,_ he thought to himself, even as his hand slid under the warm water to rest at his hips. Heat raced through his veins. The steam in the room that wafted over the surface of the pool made his skin slick to the touch.

Draco furrowed his brow. He closed his eyes and wrinkled his nose in frustration as he slid his hands between his thighs. He leaned back against the wall behind the waterfall and planted his ass against the tile floor. The water was so _hot,_ it was stifling. Draco could barely breathe without panting against the oppressive steam.

The water rippled as he moved his hips against his hand. Blood pounded in his ears. Draco could barely hear the sound of his own raspy voice, the pound of the waterfall against the bath, the swish of water as he swayed his hips.

He rolled his thumb against the head of his cock, the nails of his other hand digging into the fleshy part of his outer thigh. His head tipped back, knocking against the brick wall behind him. A small gasp escaped him, his chest heaving.

Without his brains consent, an image of an olive skinned chest passed through his head. He groaned through his nose and twisted his wrist, _stop thinking stop thinking stop thinkingstopthinking_ but he _couldn’t_. Really, he was twisted. The only good image in his mind was that of Harry being tortured, practically naked, as he was held down by mediwizards. What kind of kinky shit was that?!

And yet, Draco couldn’t get the imprint of his broad shoulders out of his head. Those green eyes, behind the glasses or not, were piercing. Run him over with a magic train, his _hair._ Draco wanted to run his fingers through it. He bet it was soft to the touch, thick and tangled, so very different from his own. He wanted to tug at it as Harry pressed kisses to his stomach, his thighs, the curve of his hip --

Draco shoved the joint of his hand into his mouth and bit down on a moan. His mind was bombarded by by images of Harry, shirtless on his knees with his lips wrapped around Draco’s cock.

He came embarrassingly quickly after that, panting as he lost his footing and slid into the water up to his chin.

He sat in the bath as the water cooled for an hour afterwards as he waited for his head to clear.

For some reason, he spent most of that time breathing heavily and reasoning through what had just happened. It was spur of the moment. He was a teenager, these things happened. It meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Draco climbed out of the bath on shaky legs with pruny fingers and toes.

~~~~~~

The second his back hit his sheets, he was out like one of their enchanted torches.

He was woken by a loud crack against his window.

Draco turned over in bed and pressed his ear against his pillow. He let out a pitiful sound and kicked his feet underneath his covers. _It’s probably just a bird, or something,_ part of his brain muttered.

_Fuck a bird,_ the other part said.

He sat up in bed. His sleep shirt had fallen over his shoulder sometime during the night, and his pants were tangled and tight around his legs. He rolled out of bed and tugged the waistband of his pajama pants until they weren’t strangling his waist. 

There was another crack against his window, and muffled shouting from outside. “Hey! Tosser!”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

He walked over to the window over his desk, peered out into the grassy courtyard below, and _what the fuck --_

Harry himself was standing outside his window, a handful of stones in one hand and the handle of a wooden crutch in the other.

Draco unlatched the window and stuck his head out. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. A rock shot up past him, narrowly missing his right ear. “Hey!”

Harry smirked. “I still had one left.”

Draco glared down at him. “Funny.”

He leaned heavily against his crutch as he fished around in his robes for his wand. “Now that you’ve finally woken up, I have something to tell you.”

Draco crawled on top of his desk and folded his arms to rest against his windowsill. He put his chin on his forearm and looked down at Harry expectantly.

“Rapunzel, let down your white hair!”

“That’s it, I’m locking my window.”

“No, wait!” Harry called. 

Draco slammed the window shut. He gave himself a moment to press his forehead to the cool glass and take in a deep breath. He didn’t want this to be awkward. Realistically, there was no way that Harry could know or figure out what had… gone down in the bathroom… but guilt still festered in the pit of his stomach.

He unlatched the lock of his window with shaking hands and stuck his head back out into the cool night air. “Do you want to… do you want to come up here?”

Harry held his crutch up. “Does it look like I can rock climb right now?”

Draco snorted. “What, did you think I was going to just scale all the way down to talk to you?”

“Er… yeah, that was the plan.”

Draco though for a moment, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He looked up at the sky -- there was minimal cloud coverage, which meant good visibility -- and weighed the options in his head. Something in the back of his head was screaming at him to get a move on.

_C’mon, Draco, this is your chance!_ It exclaimed. Draco rubbed at his cheek with his palm to prevent himself from flushing like a schoolgirl. That part of his brain was annoying, but correct. This was a good chance to get close to the Harry boy. If he had any information regarding the assassination attempt or Hermione then he was a valuable asset to have. Plus, it was in good taste to formally thank him for saving his Goddamn life.

Draco tried to think of this like a political decision, but in the end, he knew that this was a bit more complicated. Maybe he was thirsty. Or maybe he was just tired. He felt like flinging himself from the windowsill and joining Harry in the grass.

Draco chewed at his bottom lip, whispered a few choice words, and backed away from the windowsill. He fell to his knees and tugged on his boots. They were healed, but they’d give him enough support to keep him safe and without splinters in his toes. He laced them up tightly, grabbed a coat from his wardrobe, a pair of leather gloves, and shook his head to clear his thoughts.

~~~~~~

The cool night air was refreshing on his freshly cleaned skin. Draco tried to focus on the weather instead of the ivy digging into his palms through his gloves. He found a better foothold as he mentally thanked Narcissa for thinking ivy was a tasteful addition to his bedroom tower.

In the last moment, his boot slipped against the slick brick below the ivy.

A cry left his lips as he dropped five feet in the air. Draco’s head was spinning, his hands and wrists burning as he wrapped the vines around his palms. He pressed his forehead against the brick and sucked in a few breaths.

The vines were study. Well, they were _now_. A high pitched nervous giggle bubbled up in his chest.

“Hurry up,” Harry muttered below him.

He grit his teeth. “Coming,”

He inched his way down the last bit before he dropped from five feet up. His feet hit the ground with a dull thump. Harry clicked his wooden crutch against the ground impatiently.

Draco looked up at the man and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He underestimated how cold it would be in his night clothes. A shiver ran down his spine, but from what he was looking at, he doubted it was just the weather at play.

The moonlight filtered through the rows of trees and reflected off the water in silvery waves. It flashed across their skin, the curling strands of Harry’s hair, the iris of his olive green eyes.

He looked good. Stunning. His olive coloring and dark hair were complemented by green and silver even better than Draco’s were. _Shit,_ Draco was so queer.

He wiped imaginary dust from his knees in order to avoid looking Harry in the eyes. Harry made this very, very difficult. Draco guessed that wherever he and Hermione were from, what was generally considered personal space was much smaller. He hobbled over with his wooden crutch and stood right beside Draco until he stood tall.

“What?” Draco snapped, cursing the nights visibility and praying that he didn’t look flustered. The night was cold, and Harry was practically a furnace. He must be, with his thin robe, or he would freeze to death.

Harry glanced at the courtyard around them. It was completely empty, but he seemed wary of foes regardless. “I don’t trust this place.” he said. “Follow me. I know somewhere we can go.”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered. He shook his head and hurried after him. Harry moved pretty fast for someone with a limp.

~~~~~~

Draco wasn’t familiar with the forest around his house. He hadn’t explored anything since he was a child, and he rarely left Malfoy Manor’s grounds during the day unless it was for some diplomatic conference in the city. He rarely saw the people of his jurisdiction, and he rarely had time for playing. Recently he’d been too busy with his studies and the upcoming ball.

A small trail led out from the thick forest, down a clear path through a meadow, and put them out next to a lovely stream lined with blueberry bushes and wildflowers.

There was a gnarled willow tree next to the river bed, its roots large and spread out to create a few spaces at the water’s edge that were spongy with moss.

“C’mon. Sit with me.” Harry sat down at the water’s edge and patted the grass next to him. Draco rolled his own sleeping pants up and cuffed them, before sticking his feet in the water. The water ran over his ankles and toes. It was nice, if a little gritty from the upturned soil and silt on the riverbed.

“Does this water belong to anyone?” Harry asked as he peered into the surface. It seemed clean enough. The stream was running downhill through some overturned rocks, and the rippling water reflected a distorted picture of the moon and the treeline.

“I don’t know.” Draco answered honestly.

“When’s the last time you left the castle?” Harry asked, bewildered.

Draco shrugged. “I guess...two years ago? During summer, the family went to a magical village in France by the ocean.” He kicked his feet against the pull of the water. “I’m not usually needed in the diplomatic side of things. They like me to stay focussed on my studies.”

Harry blew a whistle into the night air. “That’s rough,” he murmured.

“How so? It’s not like sorting it out with the public is any fun.”

Harry smiled and looked up at the stars. He leaned back against the tree. Their shoulders brushed, and even with three layers of clothing between them, Draco could feel warmth wafting off of the other man.

“I grew up with muggles.” Harry said. “Our estate is disguised in a muggle city. We’re outside more often than not.”

Draco played with the hem of his sleep pants. He ran his toes over a smooth stone at the bottom of the river. He had never been exposed to muggles. His parents instilled the idea in his head that they were dumb and unpowerful, that he should be happy to be completely pure of their blood and their control. Still, glancing over at Harry, at his jaw and his soft cheeks, feeling the magical energy just from being near him, he couldn’t help but think that his father was wrong.

Harry grew up with muggles; how many of them were related to him? How much of that was in his blood? How much of that contributed to his bravery, the bravery that saved Draco?

“So,” Draco stated, praising himself for keeping a steady voice even in such close quarters. “I never thanked you the other day. You saved my life. That was rude of me.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Rude of you, _please,_ you’re not the first person who’s life I’ve saved.”

“Well, sorry for wasting your time, then.” Draco frowned.

With a sigh, Harry let his head fall back against the bark of the willow tree. “You’re not a waste of time, Malfoy,”

“Draco.” he corrected.

“Hm?”

Draco cleared his throat and looked out along the stream. “You can call me by my first name. You saved my life, mate. Trust me, we’re there.”

That seemed to cheer him up. It got him to smile, and that was all that mattered. Draco tried to be discreet as he studied the stretch of Harry’s lips and the curve of his eyelid in the dimming moonlight.

They sat at the bank for a while, basking in the silence of the forest around them, until Harry had to go and _yell._

Draco nearly fell into the water in surprise as Harry shot up and made a terrible yelping noise. His eyebrows hat shot halfway up his forehead as a look of terror plastered itself across his face.

“I… I can’t believe I forgot,” he murmured. Harry shook his head as he righted his glasses on his face. “I remembered why I asked you to meet me here.”

Draco stood and brushed off his knees. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and cocked his hips. Well, it was fun while it lasted. “So, what do you need to talk to me about? Or was this all just a clever ruse to get me here so you could chat?”

Harry grabbed both of Draco’s shoulders. His thumbs dug into his skin. Draco was taken aback by how serious he looked. “This is no joke, Mal-Draco.” he told him. “They were trying to kill you at the ball, but they’re not done. That was just the first step.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for kudos and comments. They genuinely do so much for me and make me so happy.
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	3. Chapter Three: Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a day late bc I forgot to post it last night asdfghjkl sorry dudes

Draco would be lying if he said that Harry’s words didn’t make him feel woozy with anxiety. For the second time that night, he almost fell into the lake.

Harry grabbed him by the biceps and tugged him to his chest. Draco’s breath caught in his throat. He could feel the steady thump of the other man’s heart against his own, the gentle breeze of his breath, and his fingers digging into Draco’s shoulder. The green of his irises were transparent with the light shining directly into them. His eyelashes were obscenely long. They brushed against his eyelids like flower petals. Draco wanted to kiss that bit of unmarked skin under his eye.

Draco has a difficult time letting go, but when he did, he shoved Harry away with the two palms braced against his chest. He wasn’t sure if he could have resisted if he stayed that close. He landed on his back in the grass of the clearing, all the wind knocked out of him. Harry stood back a few meters, his hands raised in surrender. He looked like he wanted desperately to help Draco up, but was holding himself back with a shred of his confidence.

Draco shook himself off and stood up. He walked past Harry and leaned against the side of the willow tree with his arms crossed protectively over his chest.

“Thank you for letting me know.” he said. His vice sounded stone cold and stiff, even to his own ears.

“Of course,” Harry spluttered. “It’s only fair -- nice, I mean. To let you know. That. Someone’s trying to kill you. Of course.”

Draco willed his shoulders to drop into a more relaxed position and closed his eyes. This new information was startling -- that wasn’t surprising, considering the new information was about a pre meditated murder that happened to involve him. Worries and thoughts whirled through his head and behind his eyelids. Draco brought two fingers to the bridge of his nose and pinched. Perhaps it would slow the stream of consciousness.

“We should get back to the castle,” Draco murmured. He felt exhausted, and he still hadn’t gotten a full night’s rest since waking up from his treatment. If his mother were there, she would be lecturing him about drinking more fluids and eating light protein and vitamins. “I have to go to bed. I’m sure you do too.”

He hadn’t meant for his last comment to come out so scathing, but the look on Harry’s face confirmed that it was a more biting than he’d intended.

He pushed away from the tree and fell to the ground again.

It took him a few moments of silence and stillness for him to realize what had happened. He was braced against the grassy ground, his forearms cradling his head, his legs resting flat against the ground. His head felt like a taxidermist had cut it open, stuffed it with hot coals, and was sewing it shut. He felt woozy, and his empty stomach was turning again. He needed to eat something. Or, better yet, fall asleep and not wake up until he had inherited Malfoy Manor.

Draco leaned up on his elbows and tried to lift his head. He was met with a warm pressure against his back.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Harry muttered. He pressed one of his hands against the small of Draco’s back and eased him back to the ground. He helped him turn on his side, eased Draco’s head off the ground, and rested it on his lap. “You’re going to stay right now until you stop seeing double.”

“M’fine,” Draco insisted as he stared up at the two blurry men hovering over him.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair absently. Draco didn’t know why he would -- it was messy and curly enough already. No musing would help him. He was a lost cause.

“You’re too nice.” Draco slurred. “If Hermione’s anything like you, why would she want to marry me? I’ve been told I have a bad attitude and a sour mood.”

Harry grinned and shifted Draco’s head in his lap. “She’s nothing like me, and she doesn’t want to marry you, so I guess you’re lucky.”

Draco frowned and tried to lift his arms, only to discover that they weren’t working. Harry grabbed his biceps and guided Draco until he could fold his arms against his chest. The night was only growing colder, and his jacket was doing next to nothing to protect him from the wind and the cool air.

He looked up at Harry. How dare that prat look so good from this angle? “I’m tired,” he whispered.

“You should be. You’re healing from being poisoned. Fall asleep, I can take you back to the castle.”

Draco didn’t remember much after that.

~~~~~~

He woke up to the sunrise, a disoriented brain, painful hunger, and a warm weight against his back. 

Something smelled different. Did a servant put warming plates in his bed? The blanket covering him didn’t feel like his usual one. It was rougher, but thick, warm, and it smelled of...was that cinnamon?

Draco hummed in his sleep and turned to his side. His mattress was definitely firmer than usual. Maybe he fell asleep on the couch in one of the lounges.

The bed moved underneath him. Draco’s eyes shot open.

There wasn’t a blanket, but a familiar black waistcoat spread over him. He sat in Harry’s lap with their legs tangled together, their booted feet resting on the grassy plane of the meadow. Harry’s chest was warm and firm under him. It rose and fell with the steady progression of his breath. Draco’s sleep addled mind nuzzled into his shirt and wound his arms around the other man’s waist. _Fuck._ he even _smelled_ hot.

He lied there until the sun was too bright for his closed eyes to bare.

Draco was startled back into reality when he heard the sound of a sharp intake of breath. Harry’s arms shot up until his hands cradled the sides of Draco’s head. Draco made a sharp noise in the back of his throat.

The warm mass beneath him shoved him away within a split second, and he tumbled to the side. His head knocked against a small rock in the dirt. The pain helped to steady his mind, and he opened his eyes, now fully awake. Harry sat across from him with his hands on his knees.

“I fell asleep.” Harry whispered. “I was supposed… supposed to…”

Something else dawned on him, which was apparent by the shift of his expression to muted confusion to absolute terror. “We need to get you home.”

~~~~~~

Once again, Draco was surprised by how fast Harry could hobble with only one fully functional leg.

He was aware of what it looked like -- the crown prince shows up after going missing in the dead of night, with dirt stains on his knees, mussed hair, and a rumpled nobleman trailing after him -- and he didn’t judge his mother for looking at him with furry.

The trudged in through the back hall. Drop still felt dizzy and dehydrated. His voice was rough and tasted disgusting in the back of his mouth. All he wanted was to take another bath and down a few goblets of iced water. Just his luck his parents were standing there waiting for him. 

“Draco.” His father called, one hand on his wand, the other on his walking stick. “If you're planning on traipsing around in the wilderness all night, we expect you to at least let us know so we can _refuse to let you.”_

Draco winced. He let go of Harry’s arm (when had he begun holding it in the first place?) and shifted to the side with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets. He didn't trust his voice not to betray him. 

“How dare you?” his mother whispered. “Right after what happened during the ball, right before your engagement, you thought it a good idea to run off for the night with some foreign wizard? Did you think, for even a second, about your family? About your duty?”

“Well, it would only make sense to put the engagement off just a while longer after the assassination attempt.” Harry said.

Draco looked up at him in shock. He's never seen someone stand up to his parents. It was almost exciting, if terrifying. No matter who dared to say it, Draco would face the consequences. 

His father seemed to agree. He shot Harry a dark look and narrowed his eyes. His mouth thinned out into a pale white line. This was bad news -- Draco knew this expression. It meant trouble.

“We will not be cancelling the engagement, no matter what you’re trying to manipulate our foolish son to think.” he said.

Draco froze. He bit down on the inside of his cheek and kept biting until he tasted blood. It didn’t help that Harry was fuming with anger beside him. He was a noble by adoption, but it was clear that he hadn’t experienced the extensive training that Draco had. A single jab by Lucius Malfoy and he was already furious.

“I’m sure you feel the same Draco?” he asked.

Draco took in a shaky breath through his teeth. He looked down at his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. He was holding them so tightly that his knuckles were bright white.

“I…” he started, before clearing his throat and looking up into his father’s eyes.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, and his resolve shattered.

“ _Please,_ just give me some time to choose! I just met them, I can’t possibly make a good decision, don’t you want me to be happy?”

Narcissa gasped. She stepped up past her husband and grabbed Draco by the bicep. He flinched away from her grasp, but she held on tight.

“Of course we do! But we’re older, and we know that a life with power and comfort _is_ a happy one.”

Draco closed his eyes and puffed a breath out through his nose. “I understand that, mother,” (he didn’t) “but please, just humor me.”

His father snorted and shook his head with disdain. He placed both hands on the cane before him, palms flat. It was more terrifying than if he had smacked the wood as hard as he could.

“Two weeks.” he said, looking up through the perfect strands of white blond hair that had fallen out of his ponytail and over his forehead. “You have two weeks to choose. We’ll have a few of the most eligible girls stay here and in the guest house. You _must_ make an effort, do you understand? I’ll make sure of it. More dances, meeting, assigned times for courting…”

Draco nodded. His hands made fists behind him as his father steepled his hands in front of him and smiled. The expression didn’t reach his eyes -- they looked cold and loveless as usual.

Lucius looked over his shoulder to Harry. He was doing his best to stand protectively in front of Draco with his hands clenched at his sides. Draco appreciated that. The solid presence helped him feel safer under the anger of his father.

“That means you and your sister as well,” Lucius said. “I can show you to your room. It will be right next to your advisor and your king. I hope you find it…” His smirk grew wider and colder. “Pleasant.”

Draco made a mental note to ask Sergio to check the bedsheets for poisonous snakes before nighttime. He didn’t doubt his father’s cruelty.

~~~~~~

When he was seven, his father had introduced to him his first snake. It was a half-meter long ball python -- practically harmless, skinny and shy, and Draco was absolutely terrified of it. His father sat him on the floor of his bedroom and made him poke the snake with a lit wand until it balled up and hissed at him.

“It can’t hurt you if you’re more powerful,” Lucius had muttered into the crown of his head.

The snake slithered through the thick carpet until its snout was only inches from Draco’s bare foot.

Draco had whimpered and begged his father with his eyes to let him go, let him scream, let him run away, but Lucius held him firm at his back and refused. He had snatched the wand from Draco’s hand and cast a spell at the ball python.

The snake hissed loudly and writhed before them as Draco cried silently. The snake wound itself around his bare foot.

“Look.” Lucius muttered. “It won’t hurt you. I knows that you are more powerful. With magic, your blood, and your power, nothing will be able to hurt you without consequences. You just have to make sure that you are always more powerful.”

And with that, Lucius had cast a final spell, and the python dissolved into ashes at their feet.

~~~~~~

Draco locked himself in his room for the better part of the day as the remainder of the princesses and their families moved into Malfoy Manor.

He was meant to be finding a few to talk to and court. His father had made that clear. Draco was trying to make it clear that he had absolutely zero interest in any of the people in the Manor without being disowned. It wasn't working. 

He stayed upstairs in his bedroom until his back was stiff from leaning up against his bed. Harry must have been busy, for he neglected to visit him in his bed chambers all morning. Perhaps he found his sleuthing skills more potent without the cumbersome reminder of the prince he’d sworn to protect.

No matter the reason, he wasn't there and Draco was bored of avoiding the women. 

Draco prayed that no noble would be prancing around the grounds for fresh air. There was plenty of air inside the castle, where he didn't have to see them or make petty conversation. He put on his thinnest clothing and a pair of comfortable shoes, and snuck through the halls of the castle. He encountered no one, not a single servant or elf.

The quidditch field was a sight for sore eyes. No games were ever played on its grounds. It was designed for aesthetic purposes only (and for Lucius Malfoy to show his wealth to all of the guests he invited to tour their land). It was a broad field, about one-hundred meters wide on each side, covered in soft grass and hard dirt to kick off of. It was bordered by waist high green bushes that flowered beautifully in the spring. There was a raised section for viewing, but it hadn’t been used in ages. Draco was the only person who ever flew here, and that was only when he had a particular need to clear his head.

He grew up on these fields. His father had stuffed a broom in his hands by the time he was nine. Riding, flying, hunting, and sword fighting were skills that many couldn't afford. Lucius Malfoy enjoyed everything that he could spend money on that others were envious of. 

Draco dropped his broom into the air, swung a leg over the seat, and kicked off the ground.

The rush of cool air through his air and past his ears was invigorating. The air was crisp, the sky a blank white, spotted with enough clouds to keep the glare of the sun to a minimum. The weather was perfect for flying. Draco milked this luck as he flew laps and loops around the field. He abandoned his form, leaned low over the handle of his broom and curled his legs in tight. His palms left the hard wood of the shaft and flew back behind him with the force of the wind. He felt like he was flying -- really, truly flying, without the help of magic.

He caught sight of a flash of scarlet out of the corner of his eye. Draco nearly fell from his broom in surprise. He expected the fields to be empty. For a moment, he felt rueful and kicked out at the air. That was before he looked up and noticed the familiarity of the flying blur of red and gold.

Harry was sat atop his own broom (a firebolt, impressive) with his hair pulled back under a yellow bandana. He’d replaced his glasses with black tinted sports goggles that reflected light back into Draco’s face. He was dressed in typical quidditch robes -- long socks, joggers, a sleeved shirt and a thin cape cinched at the waist with a cloth belt. It highlighted how skinny he was, despite how muscular he looked in the bulky clothing he seemed to always be wearing.

His messy, curly hair typically shielded a good chunk of his facial features from view. With his hair out of his face, Draco could properly oogle his strong jaw line, the slope of his soft cheeks, the dark plane of his rounded forehead, that scar that decorated the skin in the middle of his brow -- he was stunning in the afternoon sunlight.

Worse, he was growing closer by the second, and Draco wasn’t looking where he was flying.

They crashed mid air, about twenty feet above the grassy field. Harry’s broom was certainly faster and stronger -- he recovered quicker with his hands braced on Draco’s shoulders. Draco leaned into his touch without thinking.

“Easy there,” Harry murmured. His low voice was barely audible over the wind in their ears.

Draco remembered dreaming the night before. He remembered waking up practically on top of the other man, how he smelled, how warm he felt -- yes, there was no way in hell that this was a dream. He still smelled like smoky cinnamon and a touch of plain soap.

Then he remembered what was actually happening.

“What are you doing up here?” he exclaimed.

Harry gave him a stern look. “You ran off to the quidditch field without a guest. I’m not going to let you wander off like that alone. Not when we know someone in the castle could be planning to murder you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “How do you even know this for a fact?”

“I don’t.” Harry stated. He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t trust some of your guests, and I don’t trust your father to keep you as safe as I can, so I’m going to shadow you until I can figure out what’s going on.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “So, what, you’re my bodyguard from now on?”

Harry nodded. “Precisely.”

“And why don’t I get to have all the fun sleuthing around and figuring out who wants me dead?”

Harry’s eyes grew as hard as steel. If Draco didn’t already know him, he would have been terrified. As it was, he felt a shiver run up his spine.

“I have a theory,” he muttered. “Hermione’s the one who’s really concerned -- she overheard Karkaroff talking the other night about some plan. There’s the possibility that it’s about tricking you into marrying his terrible niece, but… we can never be sure. Especially when someone poisoned you the night she overheard him chatting it up with Severus.”

Draco let out a sigh and shook his head with disdain. Severus snape was a family friend who hated his family and was never friendly (politics). He would never do anything outright to harm them, but he was sneaky and clever. Draco had no doubt that he knew of everything going on as well.

Harry planted both of his gloved fists on his hips and shot Draco a sharp grin. “Say hello to your new friend and protector!”

Harry flew a few feet away and looked expectantly at Draco, as if he was supposed to just get back into the swing of flying circles with Harry trailing right after him.

Draco wasn’t standing for it. “I don’t need anyone protecting me. Especially not some adopted noble man for another country. Especially not one who can’t fight a man off fast enough to retain the health in his own leg.”

Harry shrank in on himself as his expression dropped.

“Well, how ‘bout being friends? Friends who just… spend a lot of time together?”

“What do friends even talk about?” Draco asked.

He had a few friends, or people who he considered friends, but they rarely talked. They either studies together or sat comfortably in the same room on separate couches without talking. Occasionally they would play Quidditch or dine together. He didn’t know if Harry even _liked_ studying magic. Even at the ball, he hadn’t used magic to protect Draco from his attacker. He’d fought him with his bare fists.

He looked down at Harry’s broom. Well. He liked Quidditch, that was for sure.

Draco waved his hand in the air and gestured vaguely towards Harry’s legs (they were very nice legs).

“Nice broom.”

_Really? “Nice broom”? That’s all you have?_

Harry grinned up at him. _God,_ he was lovely to look at.

“Thanks!” He said, gripping the handle. “It was a Christmas present from my godfather a few years ago.”

Draco nodded. He’d never seen someone look at their own broom with love in their eyes. Then again, he’d never seen someone with a Firebolt -- they were pretty rare, considering the expenses of each item required to create one.

“I’ve actually never seen one before.”

“Really? Do you want to try it out?

Draco’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. He couldn’t he didn’t want to impose. “No, it’s okay, really -!”

It was too late. Harry was already grabbing him by the elbow and tugging him as they descended to the grassy ground before them.

They reached the ground at a running stop. Draco’s broom immediately righted itself and floated next to his waist, ready at a moment’s notice. Harry’s did the same, but it didn’t hum or move -- it floated mid-air, perfectly still. Now that he’d gotten a closer look, it really was a fine model.

Draco reached out to touch the straw end, but hesitated.

With a chuckle, Harry grabbed his wrist with gentle fingers. “It’s okay, you can touch it.”

He admired the broom silently as Harry looked out along the field, his face an expression of wonder.

His own broom nudged his side, it’s enchanted jealousy apparent. Draco braced his other hand on the shaft of his own broom and shifted it until it floated a few inches away from him. Once he felt like he’d seen enough of the Firebolt, he poked Harry’s shoulder. 

“What, enjoying the view?” he asked.

“It’s just…” Harry shook his head. “We have our own pitch at the Bagman house, but it’s strictly for playing. They don’t pay any attention to how it looks. You can rarely even use it, he has games running near constantly.”

“I’m the only one who ever uses this pitch,” Draco shrugged. “I guess father doesn’t care about sports unless they can make him look good.”

Harry nodded. Draco was enjoying how easy it was for Harry to agree with the jabs he put towards his father. At least he had good taste in company, as well as broomsticks.

Harry leaned on his Firebolt. “I prefer flying in forests, anyway.”

The forests surrounding them were lush and contained well groomed paths that all led back to the main courtyard of Malfoy Manor. Draco spread his arms and gestured at the field around him.

“Well, we have plenty of those here, if you want to go on a hike through the wilderness.” He gave Harry a cheeky smile. “I’ll be your faithful trail guide.”

Harry perked up. The grip on his broomstick tightened. “Wait, can we really?’

Draco’s smile faltered as he was taken aback. “You actually want to?”

“Yes!”

He shrugged. This wasn’t really his plan -- this was going to be the second time in one week where he would be traipsing through the woods with this boy. Still, last time, nothing awful had happened, except he’d nearly shoved Harry into the river. That was his own fault. That could be overlooked.

Draco looked down at his broomstick, which was still nudging his hip like an eager dog, then back at Harry’s eager expression. He breathed out a little silent sigh. “Then, yeah, I guess so.”

~~~~~

“You know this trail well, I see.” Harry commented, pushing away branches that jutted out above Draco’s head but in front of his.

“Yeah...I’ve lived here all my life, I haven’t seen much of the world around me. I’m sure someone of your stature has, of course.”

He was expecting some spiel about the numerous island countries Harry had visited in his childhood days, only to see Harry rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepishly at the ground.

“Well -- I was raised by muggles, remember? That was up until I was eighteen. After that, I was in school until last year when I graduated early, and was actually taken on as a magical apprentice to the Weasley family. They were the ones who discovered I was a wizard before everyone else.”

Draco frowned. _Weasley._ That name was familiar. They owned a small plot of land just outside of their control. His father had been aching to take control of it for years now. He was too busy brooding to comprehend the rest of Harry’s words.

“Wait -- you’re not a pureblood?”

Harry cocked an eyebrow. If they weren’t walking, Draco got a sense that he would have crossed his arms and leaned onto one leg.

Draco shook his head and held his palms up in surrender. “Not that… not that it matters to me, of course, I was just wondering how…”

He shot him a grin and nudged him with his own broad shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m not muggleborn, but my mother was. My parents are -- were -- both magical.”

“Were?”

Harry stared at the ground and toed at a rock stuck in the dirt. “They died when I was an infant. I’ve never spoken to them.”

Draco nodded with a humm. He wanted to apologize, but what for? What would saying “I’m sorry” fix? All that he knew was that he had an odd desire to envelop Harry in a hug. Harry didn’t seem that beat up about it -- after all, he’d never known them. There weren’t any memories for him to miss. Still, growing up in some muggle home because both of his parental figures had died before he got the chance to really meet them… it was straight out of a tragedy.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts before his body betrayed him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “What about Hermione, then?” he asked.

“Oh, she’s muggle born. A brilliant witch, too. She’s already finished with all of her necessary studies, but she’s going further in her education anyway. I’m really proud of her.”

They passed an unkept water fountain that sprayed water from the point of an elderly wizard’s wand and pointed hat.

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I mean no offense -- I know I look like a carbon copy of my father, but I can assure you that I am not him, but -- how did you manage to get invited to the ball if neither of you have pure wizard blood?”

Harry tapped his nose and nudged his flying goggles a bit higher up on the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. “Our adoptees are very wealthy, and very pure blooded. It’s not like the Malfoy family can tell just by looking at us that Hermione and I aren’t related -- no offense, of course.”

“That’s preposterous!” Draco exclaimed. “You two don’t even have the same skin tone, you’re much lighter, you don’t even look similar!”

This put a grin on Harry’s face.

They walked the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. The trail wasn’t that long, perhaps a mile (probably so Draco wouldn’t wander too far away from his father’s control) so it took them less than an hour to arrive back at the courtyard in the heart of Malfoy Manor.

Draco was enjoying his impromptu bodyguard. Harry was a comforting presence at his side and his back. Even with the slight limp -- he was healing fast -- Harry still seemed worlds stronger than himself. He felt safe in his own home, which, to his own surprised, felt like a first.

When they arrived at the Manor, it was nearing dark. The sky was split up into slices of dark oranges and bright magentas, cut by the stormy clouds that trailed through the air before the sun. The view over the darkening treetops was stunning -- what was more, was the reflection of it in Harry’s round glasses, and the expression of wonder on his face.

“Don’t get sunsets like this in the city, do you?”

Harry didn’t even have a quip. He just shook his head and stared open mouthed at the sky as Draco took in the memory of his eyes and his cheekbones.


	4. Chapter Four: Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It gets Wild yo

Perks of having all of the princesses and nobles move into his home: the halls of Malfoy Manor were bright and noisy, and friendly sounds filled the halls and replaced the gloomy torches and the rattle of invisible ghosts.

Cons: Draco’s father had balls planned for three nights of the week.

His feet and calves were positively aching from the strain of dancing. This time he hadn’t gotten a single break -- the girls kept him on his feet all night, twirling them and dancing as they tried to get him to say more than a few words. At first he started off kind and entertained whatever they had to say with polite conversation, but it grew obvious as time passed that most of them were only talking to him because they wanted him for his family’s blood status.

He hated being reduced to his blood status.

He was only granted breaks when his own Personal Bodyguard (Harry Potter himself) allowed him to step away from the ladies with a polite bow and join him at the punch bowl. Draco swore off the punch bowl and punch itself for the rest of his life after vomiting it up for two days straight. He kept himself busy by eating the small chocolate croissants on the pristine metal platters lining the circular punch table.

Over the first week, this gave Harry and him plenty of time to talk. They discussed quidditch, the girls, their lives, their hopes, and the particularly delicious pastries that Draco stuffed into his mouth whenever a girl walked up to talk to them.

He was cheating the system with this whole body-guard thing. The girls seemed to oogle Harry more than him, anyway. Draco enjoyed standing in someone else’s shadow for a change.

In the late hours of the second ball of that week, a woman who clearly had eyes for Harry alone walked up to them and asked Draco for his hand to dance. Finding no other excuse (and no pile of raspberry knots to scarf down), Draco accepted with a low bow. He shot Harry a look over his shoulder as the girl led him away.

She was bold, but perhaps not bolder than Hermione. Her dress robes were drawn together in a knot at her throat and flared off like a cape behind her, the dress underneath stopping abruptly at her upper thighs so almost all of her pale legs were bared to the world. She grinned when she caught Draco looking. Draco did not fail to notice how she looked at Harry’s close form as they danced.

He was practically sure that he was going to propose to Hermione. She was the only one who seemed to have any ounce of brains, the only one who was willing to talk about her own interests instead of pandering to him, and she was willing to stand up to him and look him in the eyes. Even though he had no feelings for her whatsoever, dancing with her was at least fun. She was a tad bit awkward, but Draco didn’t blame her. She was pretty and nice to look at. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend to be attracted to her.

He still wished with all of his heart that he had more time. It wasn’t about figuring out a way to stop the engagement. Now it was just him holding on to his life with aching fingers. He wanted to spend as much time without a wife as he could. Hermione was beautiful and funny and intelligent, but the idea of living with her, of having children with her, of having _sex_ with her… it made his stomach turn with biting sourness and bitter anxiety on his tongue.

With the moths in his stomach now attaching his digestive system and spitting poison, Draco excused himself from his dance partner with a hasty bow. He grabbed Harry by the elbow of his dress robes’ suit and tugged him back to the corner of the dancefloor.

With nervous eyes, he peered over the ballroom to make sure no one important was looking at him.“I don’t want to do this,” he whispered.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Draco grit his teeth and gestured at the “Pretend to like some girl and marry her -- it’s not just unfair to me, it’s unfair to her! I’ll never love someone that’s chosen for me, I’ll never be able to…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry shift their positions until they were standing side by side. His hand pressed against the small of his back and twisted them until they faced the crowd. Harry threw his arm around Draco’s shoulder -- to anyone looking, they would look like particularly good friends, but Draco knew exactly what this was. For someone as touch-starved as he, it was absolutely what he needed.

The hand at his shoulder squeezed, and he’d never been more grateful for a friend in his entire life.

“I hate being reduced to my blood status.” he muttered under his breath.

Harry caught his shoulder with his hand and made him turn to look him in the face. His nose was scrunched up -- adorably, he might add -- and his brows were drawn together. “You don’t get to say that.” He murmured.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Pray tell.”

“I know how difficult this is for you -- I can imagine what it’s like to have someone try to force a noble girl on you, believe me -- but you have the purest blood of all. They want you because your blood status puts you above other people. It’s not like that for others...people like Hermione, like my mother, even like me sometimes, people objectify our blood because they believe we are weaker because of us. We’re inferior. They think we can’t be _real_ witches and wizards.”

He shook his head and looked off into the crowd of dancers. Draco traced his eyes and found the target of his attention dancing with another ladies escort, her chin held high as she laughed. Draco watched as she lifted her hand from his shoulder and tucked a strand of his red hair behind his ear. She was lovely in pale pink dress robes that showed off the freckles on the dark skin of her shoulders and collarbones.

Harry must admire her greatly. That only further cemented Draco’s proposal plan.

The grip on his bicep loosened as Harry pulled away. “Sorry. I misspoke.” Harry murmured.

Draco gripped the other boy’s wrist and looked him in the eye. “No, you didn’t. Give yourself more credit than that, Harry.”

The smile that he sent him was blinding in the dim light of the ballroom. Draco returned it behind the cover of the back of his hand as he peered out to watch the dancers.

They sat at the side as the both of them caught their breath. Draco greatly appreciated the break from exercise (and boring conversation with noble women), and could think of nothing better than spending the time with Harry.

“So. You mentioned that your legs hurt?”

Draco turned and raised an eyebrow at Harry’s devious smile.

Harry leaned over to speak directly behind his ear. Draco shivered as the hot breath fanned out and flitted through the hair that wasn’t pinned down by the silver crown atop his head.

“I’m practiced in the art of massage.”

_Be still, my dumb fucking heart._

Draco leaned back against the wall and hoped that Harry though the heat on his cheeks was due to exhaustion. Certainly not embarrassment for how attentive his body was to something as simple as Harry whispering in his ear. Draco tried his hardest to find a way to cross his legs casually while standing up.

Distraction. That’s what he needed.

“We should dance,” he blurted out before he could filter the words through his brain properly.

Harry looked at him with a frown. “I thought you didn;t want to dance with anymore girls.”

Draco nodded. “I don’t. You’re going to help me.”

He grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged him out towards the dance floor.

~~~~~~

Draco hadn’t expected, after years of learning how to dance with women, that dancing with a man would be much more difficult.

“Should I --” Harry gestured vaguely at Draco’s side.

“What?”

Their hands met as they both reached for the other’s waist. Harry’s eyebrow raised. They tried again, and ended up tangling their arms. Draco narrowed his eyes and looked Harry in the face as he grabbed for his waist again, only to be blocked by Harry’s arm again.

“No way,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Harry asked, shooting him this innocent look as if he had no idea what he was doing.

Draco spluttered. “Wh -- well I’m not going to be the girl!”

“Really? That’s what you’re worried about?” Harry sighed and grabbed Draco’s hand. He held it in his hand and squeezed. Draco looked up into his eyes -- people were staring at them already, but this was _worth_ it. Harry brought their hands together and held them at eye level. He brought their linked hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of his hand.

While Draco was distracted by this sudden , Harry snaked an arm around his waist and pressed his arm firmly against the plane of his back.

Harry leaned down ( _really, did he have to be this tall?_ ) and whispered in Draco’s ear. “Trust me. Really, I’m _very_ good at being the man.”

He gulped, and prayed the bob of his Adam’s apple didn’t give him away. The music crescendoed once more, and Harry swept him off his feet.

Harry was a bit of an awkward dancer -- all lanky and big-footed, but he moved smoothly and directed Draco with the press of his palm right above his tailbone. His hand was warm and firm, as soft as it would be against his bare skin. He moved with beat of the music as he hummed the tune under his breath with a dumb smile on his face.

He’d never danced like this before. He was more used to being in the position Harry had taken. It was freeing to be lead around instead of doing the leading -- all he had to do was follow the gentle pressure at his spine and do as his feet told him. There was little thought or confusion involved. Draco swayed in their little skit as the people around them stared -- two crowned princes, nobles of large lands, dancing with one another like a man and a woman. 

They danced until their feet were sore, they were out of breath, and Draco couldn’t hold the smile from his face.

They limped away from the dispersing crowd, their hands still linked. There were no more adults to judge them. Draco pretended he didn’t notice the warm weight of Harry’s palm in his own.

~~~~~~

The crowd dispersed completely not long after that. The majority of their guests went off to their rooms in the main guest hall. Draco was meant to follow them and spend even more time talking with them, and perhaps let them try to win him over. Instead, her held tight to Harry’s hand and pulled him through the hall as fast as his legs would take him.

They made it to his room alone. He half expected one of the girls to follow them. The halls were dark and empty. The sinister aura of Malfoy Manor typically kept people from leaving their rooms past sunset.

When Draco opened the door to his chambers and ushered Harry inside, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. They were a crowned prince and another noble. They’d danced together, and now they retreated into a shared bedroom while the prince was meant to be courting.

Either Harry didn’t notice, or he didn’t care to say anything of it.

Draco came to realize that he wasn’t sure what he was doing. Draco didn’t know much about massages, but from what he’s read in books, they usually began with the patient (client? friend?) removing most of their clothing and relaxing against a hard surface. It was oddly sexual, and much too frequent in the romance books he stole from his mother’s library.

Draco leaned down and undid the silver lacing that led up his ankles and the curve of his calves. He pulled his shirt and jacket up a bit so he could do the same with his waistband, leaving himself in black shorts that hugged his hips and sheer black socks that reached just over his knee.

At least that night he’s neglected to wear the straps that hooked the base of his shirt to the tops of his socks. They kept his shirt from coming untucked, and his socks pulled high, but they looked suspiciously like garters and Draco didn’t feel like explaining them.

“Wow,” Harry whispered under his breath. He shook his head, a red flush high on his cheeks. 

Draco forced himself to roll his eyes and sprawled back against his bed. “What, like what you see?” his voice was biting and defensive, and carried as much venom as the creature he was named after.

It was embarrassing. He wasn't used to having this much skin on display, not with his usual ankle-to-wrist royal uniform that covered every square inch of his skin from his chin to his feet. He especially wasn’t comfortable with Harry blatantly staring at the curve of his bare legs.

Draco relaxed against the pillows at the top of his bed He rubbed his now bare legs against the comforter. He’d never been a very hairy person, and with thin, blond hair, it always looked like his legs were clean shaven, despite him never touching a shaving razor in his life. His legs felt oddly cold.

Harry took off the bottle green dress robes covering his buttoned shirt and trousers and laid them in a neat pile over Draco’s desk chair. He toed his shoes off at the door and walked over to kneel at the foot of Draco’s bed.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Why would it not be okay?” he asked, a bit sharper than he’d intended to.

Harry shrugged, seemingly unfazed. His palms rubbed together with the dry sound of skin. “I wish I had lotion, or oil or something, but I guess this will do.” he muttered.

Draco jerked violently at the first touch of Harry’s hand against his bare skin.

He apologized through gritted teeth as Harry continued. The sensation was near painful at first -- it seemed his muscles were so tense that it took a significant amount of effort to work them loose again. Harry had no qualms with digging his thumbs into the meat of his calves and thighs.

“You know,” Harry spoke up after a few minutes of rubbing warmth into his calves. “I expected you to be a bit more muscular. No offense, of course.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course, mr. Broad himself. Not all of us can be born with the legs of a sprinter.”

Harry chuckled and began working on a space on Draco’s inner thigh. “You know, I’m really not that muscular. I never ate enough as a child for that. This is all from cleaning.” His thumbs pressed at the give of his skin, drawing up little shivers and goosebumps along Draco’s spine.

“You’re a brilliant sword fighter, and an athlete, aren’t you?” he asked. His voice came out in a hum that was soft as honey.

Draco gave him a jerky shrug. “I’ve got enough muscle underneath, but always had more hips, I guess.”

Harry hummed in assent and continued to let his ministrations move over the planes of his legs.

Draco made the mistake of looking down. He should have known better. Harry was rubbing at his legs with his thumbs with his head between his thighs, of _course_ the sight would affect him, but -- 

Harry, running his hot fingers up and down Draco’s legs as he stared at them with intent, his brow furrowed and his tongue jutting out from where it was bitten between his teeth… Draco was having An Issue.

Harry hovered over him, his forearms bracing him upright over Draco’s chest so he was half laying on top of him as his other hand massaged the outside of Draco’s thigh.

Fuck fuck fuck. _Fuck._

Draco swallowed hard and hoped that he imagined Harry looking at the way his throat bobbed. The press of his fingers against his bare leg grew softer by the moment until they were only the pads of his index fingers drawing circles on the tops of his quads. Draco felt his muscles relaxing into goo.

Thank the Gods his shirt was long enough to cover his crotch. He needed every extra bit of cloth he could get.

Harry ran his hands firmly over the tops of his thighs to generate more warmth. Draco tipped his head back and grit his teeth until he could feel the pressure in his skull.

_Think straight thoughts think straight thoughts --_

After a few more moments of this, Harry’s hands came to rest at his sides as he propped himself above Draco. If he slipped, their chests would be pressed flush. “Do you want me to do your back too?” Harry asked. His voice came out in a muted whisper in the silence of his bedroom. “You look tense.”

_Yeah, no fucking shit._

“No, I think I’m good.” Draco’s voice squeaked out.

He kept his breath even, and in some feat of the gods, he managed to last until Harry decided his legs were thoroughly massaged.

Even as he tried his best not to pay attention, he managed to cement the memory of Harry’s tongue poking out between his teeth in concentration, the press of his thumbs in the flesh of his thighs, and the warm weight of his hands on his bare skin.

It was mostly out of fear that he would never feel the same touch ever again.

His mood depleted at the thought, but it couldn’t grow especially dismal with Harry grinning up at him through sweaty curls that hung over his brow.

His self-appointed bodyguard slept on the couch in his bedroom the night before, after much arguing. Now, it was comfortable. Almost ‘Normal’. Harry stripped down to a soft grey undershirt and shorts and tucked himself into the couch in the corner of the room.

Even after the embarrassing episode with the massage, the pain in Draco’s legs remained. At least now his muscles felt more like warm jello than stiff rods of lead welded onto his torso.

For the memory of Harry’s wide smile, the tilt of his head as he laughed, the squint of his eyes behind his glasses, it was all worth it.


	5. Chapter Five: Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's definitely not a cliff hanger.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is much shorter than my other chapters but I promise there's a reason for it)

He was allowed the luxury of waking up before Harry and sat in bed for a few more moments to savor the sight of him curled up on his side, hair wild, his face smooth and relaxed in sleep. The slope of his chest rose and fell with his breathing.

He closed his eyes and waited until the image was imprinted on the inside of his eyelids. After Harry left, the memories would be all he had left of this time.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead, as if he could press the memory further into his brain and keep it their, wrapped in a blanket, safe in the corner of his mind.

Perhaps he could risk bottling the memory up for later use in a Pensieve… Draco shook that thought away. It was too risky. A servant would find the bottle, give it to his father, who would un stop the cork and -- the thought stewed in his head, gruesome with shame and terror.

Draco rolled out of bed and padded over the carpet to his wardrobe. He threw on his jacket and pants, did up the laces, and combed his hair away from his forehead with his fingers. He could use a bath, and a good brush, but he didn’t have time at the moment. There were princesses to fool into hating him.

He left his bed chambers, taking one last fleeting look at Harry;s sleep tousled hair, his relaxed eyelids, and the curve of his brow, before he hurried off to the downstairs corridor.

~~~~~~

During breakfast Draco found himself cornered in the royal dining room by none other than his father.

Lucius mastered the art of trapping prey a long time ago. He crossed Draco’s bath and diverted him into a secluded area of the dining room with ease, his cane crossed in front of his right leg. He gave his son a smile that didn’t reach the steely fury in his eyes.

“You seemed very friendly with that boy. ‘Harry,’ is it?” he asked. Draco knew full well that Lucius was just playing with him. There was no way his father would forget the name of a nobel.

Draco paused, his head whirring as he tried to think of an excuse. “Erm… Yes, I guess so.”

Lucius fixed him with a sneer that didn’t reach the cold anger in his eyes. “Don’t try to write it off, I saw you dancing with him the other night. And then the two of you disappeared. Again.”

Draco nodded and kept his eyes away from his father’s. That’s what he liked -- avoiding eye contact was a symbol of submission. His power-hungry father would get a kick out of that. “He is but a friend, Father. Don’t you want us to be courteous to our guests?”

His father shot him a skeptical look. “Friend, hm?”

Draco swallowed, hard. “Besides,” he started. “It’s nice to have someone to tell me more about Hermione Bagman, isn’t it? I know you want me to choose her. I’m using him for information, nothing else. You raised me in your mirror, father. Do not underestimate me.”

Lucius cocked one elegant bond eyebrow and turned on his heel. He paused after half a step to eye his son over his shoulder.

His words were as silver as blades and just as sharp. “Do not disappoint me.”

With that, Draco found the air rush out of his chest in relief.

Draco shoveled his breakfast as fast as he could while maintaining good form and manners, pressed away from the table and ran from the scene. He almost managed to get out of the royal dining room before anyone had him in her clutches. _Almost._

Penelope clearwater grabbed his elbow in the doorway. She looked down at him and smiled. She was about three inches taller than him.

“Master Malfoy,” she murmured, her chin held high. Draco bowed hastily and gripped her wrist. 

His lips parted to answer, but she was already whisking him away and talking his ear off.

They chatted politics -- Draco avoided saying anything inflammatory or out of character of his family -- until noon. She was smart and had good opinions, but his mind was somewhere else.

Harry was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t come down to breakfast, and Draco couldn’t split away to check his bedchambers without bringing Penelope up to his room (which was the opposite of what he wanted to do). Worry stewed in his mind and his lungs. He managed to escape her by claiming a stomach ache before lunchtime and dashed off in the direction of the furthest northern tower.

He trekked up to the owlery. His family’s eagle owl lived in the tallest tower of Malfoy Manor. He was usually alone, but with the influx of guests in the castle, Apollo had a number of feathered friends resting on the hanging perches around him. Draco ducked under the low 

He made his way to the opposite side, where Apollo perched on the windowsill. He ran his knuckles over the owl’s wing and he returned the gesture by nipping playfully at his fingers.

With a sigh, Draco lifted himself onto the windowsill and sat next to his owl.

He saw a flash of brown and black in the doorway and sprang to his feet.

The door swung closed again, and Draco ran straight into it in his attempt to get to Harry. He righted himself on the other side, winded and bruised, his eyes a bit foggy, but managed to catch sight of black robes rushing down the spiral staircase. He tripped down a few steps but regained his stance as he sprinted down the sharp turn.

“Where are you go -- Harry!” Draco reached out and managed to snag a handful of Harry’s robe, only for it to be ripped from his grasp.

Harry jerked his shoulder away for him and continued to strut down the stairs. Draco followed after him, sputtering.

Harry stopped and spun around at the foot of the staircase. Draco looked up and noticed in the last moment, flying forward with his downward momentum. With a step under his foot, his head was level with Harry’s. 

“So,” Draco whispered. He could feel Harry’s breath fan over his cheeks. It was overwhelming and warm and stifling. Draco felt his heart stutter in his chest.

“So.” Harry was fuming -- his cheeks were dark and his eyes were pointed low, staring him directly in the eye. “Friend, hm?” Harry asked. 

Draco’s blood ran as cold as Harry’s tone of voice. He stepped back like he’d been hit across the chest. His father, in the kitchen -- _Harry…_

“You know, for a minute, the other night in your room, I thought --” Harry bit down on the inside of his cheek and balled his hands to fists at his side. Draco’s face burned, the tips of his ears flaming red.

Harry looked at him through the tousled hair over his forehead. Draco could see wetness welling up in his eyes.

Draco opened his mouth to say something, _anything,_ but his words got caught in his throat. His throat tightened up as his muscles stiffened.

Harry shook his head and bit at his lip. He sucked in a quick breath and scrubbed at his forehead with shaky hands. “Never mind. Of course not. You’re just some prat of a pureblood who’s wallowing over the attention he gets from women left and right, because who could he possibly choose when all of them are beautiful and all of them want to get in his pants.”

Harry shook his head again. He looked like he was attempting a sneer, but Draco saw the flash of a betraying expression in his eyes and in the curve of his lips. _Hurt._

Draco’s heart ached.

“Harry, you don’t understand --” he spit out.

“Don’t ‘ _Harry_ ’ me. I was foolish to expect better of you.”

Draco reached out to take his hand, but he pulled his arm back as if Draco was a particularly venomous snake. “Harry, please stop, you don’t --”

“I don’t _what_ , Malfoy?”

Draco sniffed and tried desperately to hold back the tears welling in his eyes. His voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t stand seeing Harry look at him this way, with fury and disappointment and pain -- he wanted to tell him the truth, how he really felt, but he _couldn’t,_ he’d be shunned. Harry would surely hate him.

They were supposed to be friends. And Draco had to go and mess everything up by being a fucking _shirt-lifter._

Draco took one step closer and placed a palm on Harry’s cheek. His skin was so warm, unmarked save for the scar on his forehead and the smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose.

Harry flinched at his touch. Draco wanted to curl up and sob.

He wanted so much more than just this touchy flit back-and-forth, this playful friendship that felt like so much more in the pit at the base of his ribcage that begged to be filled by _something_...

But Harry’s steady hands pressed against his chest and the touch burned with heat -- Harry shoved him away and ran off in the other direction.

Draco fell to the floor with a pool of his black dress robes fanned out around him, wishing he could melt into that puddle of darkness.

He sat there, numb, for an indeterminate amount of time. His breathing grew tighter in his chest until he was heaving with it, struggling to breathe in without sobbing. He waited until the light outside had faded and his pelvic bones had molded into the concrete of the steps beneath him.

Draco fell forward on his knees and pulled himself up on shaky legs, tear tracks stained onto his face.

~~~~~~

He felt like a ghost wandering the halls of the manor. His feet scuffed against the carpet. He fell in and out of his own head -- for a few minutes, it felt as though he were looking at himself through the third person.

The sun was passing over the sky, visible only through the magical ceiling in the main hall that mimicked the sky outside. If his astronomy knowledge held faithful, it was six in the afternoon. Almost time for dinner.

He felt like he was wading through flobberworms as he made his way to the dining hall. He scrubbed at his face until his cheeks were cherry red and the tear stains were no more. He set his shoulders and let his chin be held high. He cleared his throat -- it would do no good for people to see that he had been crying. As much as it pained him in his chest to admit, there was still the reputation. At this point, it was hanging by a silver filament over an abyss of bastardry and disappointment. He could feel himself swinging in his gut. One wrong move, one addition of weight, and he would be falling, falling… 

Harry sat a row away from Draco in the corner, looking pointedly just to the side of where Draco sat.

Draco did his best to chat with Ludo Bagman. The man was fit and tall from his days playing Quidditch, and just as loud. His personality alone filled his seat in totality. He was a welcome distraction.

Dinner tasted like parchment and stuck in the back of his mouth like stale rice. Draco ate his entire plate without tasting a single thing.

As the girls stood up and began to swarm towards him, Ludo bagman grabbed his elbow and tugged him off to the side. The message was clear -- _give us privacy._

Ludo brought him to the corner of the dining room and elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “The ladies are feigning for you, eh?” he chuckled.

Draco gave him a dry smile and nodded unenthusiastically.

Ludo put his arm over Draco’s shoulder. Draco wasn’t particularly happy about being touched without his permission, but he didn’t say anything. He let Ludo jostle him around with the rowdiness of his aura, saying nothing, nodding and agree to all he said. It was all he could do to fight his own brain as it wanted to dissociate.

“What do you say we go for a walk and have a chat, hm?” Bagman asked, a grin quirking the side of his face.

He nodded numbly and followed him as he left the dining room, Ludo’s booming voice echoing off the tall walls of the great hall.

Ludo bagman clapped him on the back. Draco wished he’d stop doing that. Either he didn’t know his own strength, or he was doing it knowing full well Draco wasn’t strong enough to withstand the blow and stumbled a step forward each time.

Draco listened to Ludo talk about Hermione, nodding periodically and answering when it was appropriate. If he proposed to Hermione at the end of the week, Ludo would be his step father. He needed to stay in the good graces of the man who would legally own him in a few weeks.

He should have realized much sooner that Ludo wasn’t walking on the path anymore. The air around them was growing colder and darker. They weren’t walking around the perimeter of the castle. Draco’s sense of direction was completely scrambled.

Draco turned on his heel and peered over his shoulder -- the manor was nowhere in sight. Panic welled up in his lungs.

He paused in his steps. Ludo turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Master Malfoy?” He asked. He didn’t look concerned. In fact, just the opposite. He was grinning. Just like Draco’s father the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“What’s wrong, Draco?” he asked.

Draco’s eyes grew wider. His breath caught in his throat. “You --” he choked out.

Ludo took a step closer and he stumbled back as quickly as his legs would take him.

Something black, thick, and fouly sweet-smelling covered his face. He breathed in and choked on it. The cloth was suffocatingly warm. It blocked his vision his air, 

He felt red tinge the edges of his vision. Unable to keep his body upright, he crumpled into Ludo’s side and passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just moved into school so I've been really busy, hopefully chapter six will go up on time next Sunday, but if it doesn't please don't worry!!! I'll post it the Sunday after for sure.


	6. Chapter Six: Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading!!

When he finally came to, he was on his back, a collection of small, sharp object digging into his back, with a black sack covering his head.

His nose still felt completely numb, though he could recognize wetness covering most of his face. He wasn’t sure if it was the potion or the drainage from his irritated eyes, but it caused the black cloth to stick to his face. Draco was finding it increasingly difficult to draw air into his lungs.

He tried to lift his arms and found them bound tightly at the wrist and elbow. He could shift his shoulders just slightly, but other than that, he’d lost all range of motion in his arms. His legs seemed to be the same, bound tightly at the ankles and loosely in the knee.

Draco attempted to roll over and brace his knees against the ground, and found the floor beneath him to be wet and spongy. The objects at his back were rocks, the floor beneath him was not a floor, but the ground outside.

They were somewhere in the woods, probably miles away from Malfoy Manor, and no one would be looking for him. If Draco couldn’t find a way out of this situation himself, he was as good as dead.

He felt his muscles lock up in fear.

Draco didn’t know how long he sat there, willing his eyes to open and his breath to even out, before he heard soft footsteps a few metres away.

He spun and landed on his back, lashing out with his bound feet. A set of hands grabbed at his calves and yanked them back down to the ground where he was pinned. The black sack was wrenched from his face. The moonlight was dim, but after sitting in darkness for so long, the light was incapacitating. Draco shimmied away from his captor and blinked furiously.

Strong hands wrapped around his shoulders and neck. He found himself pressed up against an enormous tree, hands at his throat, not quite squeezing, but with enough pressure to make his heart race and his stomach bubble with panic.

His eyes focused on the blurry form. Ludo Bagman kneeled before him. He was a picture of distress -- his eyes were wide and bloodshot, his hands shaking as they pressed his shoulders into the bark. Draco felt something akin to a growl growing in the back of his throat. He kicked out, nearly catching Ludo in the chest, but the ropes around his knees prevented him from making contact. Ludo grabbed him by the knee and pressed his bound legs into the ground, straddling them and pressing them into the roots of the tree with his own body weight.

Draco opened his mouth to cry out and found Ludo’s hand covering his mouth.

When he spoke, his voice came out frantic and bitten off. “Now, Draco, I want you to know, first and foremost that I had no intention of harming you in any way for the longest time. This isn’t anything personal, and I truly am sorry.”

He stumbled over his words in the way a drunk man stumbled home, fast and disorderly, full of desperation. His eyes refused to meet Draco’s. They darted over the forest around them. Ludo was nervous. Nervous men made bad decisions.

Draco frowned and furrowed his brow. “What are you doing, Ludo?” he gritted out.

Ludo gave him a weak smile that looked more like a grimace than a grin. His eyes fixed to Draco’s forehead instead of making eye contact.

“It’s… It’s not my fault, really. It’s difficult for _all_ of us in this day and age. How was I supposed to know they wouldn’t play fair?”

“Who played unfair?” he grit out. The grip on his neck grew tighter still -- he was beginning to see spots in the corners of his vision.

Ludo let go of his shoulder with one hand and replaced it by pressing his left palm to Draco’s throat. He began to rifle around in the leaves on the ground around them. “The Goblins -- I shouldn’t be telling you all of this, really. I just had to apologize, for my own pride.”

Draco shook his head only for the back of his head to be pressed harder into the bark behind him. “Ludo, It’s not anyone’s fault -- you can stop this! We have money, enough money to… to --”

Ludo shook his head frantically. “It’s not enough! They don’t want money, they just want what’s theirs!”

Draco’s brow furrowed. As far as he was concerned, he didn’t belong to anything outside of his family. His blood was pure wizard.

“That’s right…” Ludo whispered. His eyes grew wider and he pointed an accusing finger in Draco’s face. “It’s your family’s fault! The goblins have made so much, and received so little in return.”

His voice broke off into a mutter as he searched the ground. “It’s not my fault, just theirs, theirs theirs theirs…” Ludo’s grip on his neck tightened as his hands convulsed. “All I need is that crown of yours.”

Draco felt his heart skip a beat. His crown was made of the finest Goblin forged metal to see this side of Europe. It was enchanted -- no one could take it from his head without his consent. If anyone tried, their attempts would be punished sevenfold.

Ludo’s mouth fell open with a gasp. He kneeled away from the ground where he was searching. He’d found what he was looking for.

A gleaming knife glowed in the moonlight. It was about as long as Draco’s forearm and razor sharp. Ludo held it in both of his hands to keep the blade steady.

“Ludo, you don’t want to do this,” Draco tried to reason with him. “There’s blood magic, it’ll hurt you too, please --”

The grin that split Ludo’s face was terrifying. A shiver ran up Draco’s back and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ludo shifted closer until his knees pinned down the tops of Draco’s thighs. His legs were beginning to go numb. If he had to run away, he wasn’t sure of his chances.

Ludo ran one finger down the hilt of the dagger. “The goblins thought of that too. Really, us purebloods take their cleverness for granted. There’s always a loophole.”

Ludo’s hands were practically vibrating now, his back bent into the arch of a bow, his muscles as tight as its string. He slipped a hand under the high collar of Draco’s shirt, undoing the laces until his throat was bared to the cold air. Draco gulped. Ludo’s eyes were drawn to the pale expanse of his throat. His eyes were runny with tears at this point, even with the smile on his face.

“The crown can be passed down to a descendant, removed from the head of the fallen prince. As you take your last breath, the spell will be broken by your blood.” his voice was lower than a whisper.

Draco’s tongue felt swollen in his mouth, too heavy and dry for him to speak. His mouth fluttered open and closed like a fish. Ludo pressed the blade of the knife into his throat. His hands still trembled. The blade was as shaky as his grip and drew a few droplets of blood before Ludo had any intention of slitting his throat.

Draco writhed with all he had, his back and neck pressed flush against the tree trunk, his legs squirming where they were pinned under him. He sucked in a deep breath and screwed his eyes shut. Ludo’s sour breath fell on his face. The tip of the knife pressed against his adam’s apple.

And then, nothing.

It took a few moments of silence and the cool air washing over his face for Draco to open his eyes again.

He released the breath he’d held hostage in his rib cage, blinked until his vision returned, and stared up at the stars above him. His neck stung with bruises. He could feel the wet drip of blood at the hollow of his throat.

He heard the decisive wet thump of a fist meeting skin, and fell to his side in surprise.

In front of him, a flash of black and silver descended on the limp body of Ludo Bagman.

Harry attacked him with everything he had, abandoning the sword at his belt and his wand at his side in favor of his fists and sharp elbows. Ludo didn’t stand a chance. Harry didn’t have near the same amount of muscle mass, but he made up for it in sheer anger and desperation.

Draco rolled to his back and pulled himself onto his knees. His hair fell in his face. His crown was crooked on his brow but it stayed put, as it was charmed to. Draco shook his head to clear his thoughts and felt a trail of blood leak from his nostril and drip over his upper lip. He caught sight of the knife in the grass next to him. Draco shimmied through the moss and splay of roots until he could fall backwards over the blade. He arched his back and braced his weight on his elbows, moving his wrists back and forth as fast as he could. The bonds fell and the press of the knife was barred against the sensitive skin of his forearms. Draco ignored the warmth of blood that streamed down his finger tips in favor of grabbing the knife in both hands and slicing at the bonds that restricted his legs.

He stood on shaky legs. His knees buckled underneath his body weight and he fell back to the ground. He felt a sharp tinge in his wrists as he landed on them, but managed to ignore the pain long enough to put his legs underneath his body.

He looked up to see Ludo land a solid punch to Harry’s stomach. He heard the rush of air leave Harry’s lungs. Harry fell back, his legs twisting underneath his body weight. Ludo crawled forward and 

_“Harry!”_ Draco called out, before fitting a hand over his mouth and nose. Harry struggled under Ludo’s weight, coughing and spluttering as the grip around his neck tightened. His hands shifted from tugging at Ludo’s wrist. There was a flash of light and Ludo crumpled against 

Harry scrambled to his feet and drew his sword. He stood in the proper stance, sword braced in both hands with his feet shoulder length apart, his back curved and his knees bent. He stood like that for a few moments, every muscle in his body tense, until it was clear Ludo wasn’t going to stand up.

Harry stumbled forwards, his sword hanging limp at his side.

He lifted his sword and followed through. Draco screwed his eyes shut. He sat completely still after the wet _shlick_ of the blade and the resounding silence that followed, his teeth biting into his cheek hard enough for him to taste blood on his tongue. Draco didn’t realize he was shivering until Harry came up behind him and wrapped something warm and heavy around his shoulders. He nuzzled his frost-numbed face into the neckline of the coat. Harry’s hands were planted firmly on his shoulders. He seemed to radiate warmth in the cold night air.

His face was sweaty, a splatter of blood that didn’t look like his own decorated his cheek. His glasses were dirty and had a spiderweb of cracks in the left lense.

Draco found the air rushing out of his chest. His head fell forward. His neck ached. The bruises of finger prints would likely show. He peered down with unseeing eyes as blood dripped from his nose and neck onto the moss below him.

Something soft pressed against his face. Draco sat still and silent as Harry gently scrubbed the blood from his lip and chin. He threw the ruined handkerchief behind him and wrapped his arms around Draco’s torso. Draco leaned into the embrace. Harry was so warm and solid, a comforting presence in the midst of a battlefield. He was touch starved as it is, he couldn’t hold back with Harry’s biceps holding his bones together.

“It’s okay, Draco,” Harry whispered into the crown of his head.

The knife clattered to the ground before him. He’d forgotten he was even holding it. A sob forced its way into the hollow of his ribcage but failed to reach his throat. Draco’s emotions were numbed by the cold.

Draco pulled away from Harry just long enough to look into his face. The sun was rising -- they must have been out in the woods all night. His adorance for Harry grew as he thought about the man hunting through the woods to find him for hours through the night. The orange glow fell on Harry’s cheekbones and reflected in his dark eyelashes. The spider web cracked glasses filtered a pattern of orange light into his eyes.

Without registering what he was doing, he leaned up and pressed his lips to Harry’s.

The kiss was lightning fast and chaste, just a dry press of lips and souls together. Draco felt warmth rise up in his freezing bones, his shaking hands, the hollowness in his ribcage -- 

Draco’s heart rose up to his throat and beat so hard he couldn’t breath. He pulled away as soon as he realized what he’d done. Harry stared down at him, wide eyed. The reflection of Draco’s own face through the cracked lenses of his glasses was haggard and terrified.

Draco shoved away from Harry. The coat fell from his shoulders.

“Wait!” Harry called out, reaching for him frantically, but it was too late.

He turned around and sprinted off into the forest.

~~~~~~

He sprinted towards the sunrise. Draco ran until he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. When he finally collapsed against a tree, his eyes opened and he saw the world around him. He recognized this part of the forest. The manor must be close.

“Help,” he whispered. His voice was hoarse and broken. His vocal chords burned, the back of his throat felt like he’d been drinking acid for hours. Ludo really did a number on him.

The thought made another painful shiver run up his back. He lifted his arms and tightened the laces at his throat. He wished he’d 

He gathered his strength and prepared to brace against the pain. “Help!” he screamed, nails digging into his palms. The sound of his own voice was fire in his lungs, but he couldn’t stop now.

He croaked out, coughing and sputtering cries until he heard rustling in the leaves around him. He clutched a tree branch in his fists. He wasn’t prepared to fight. He said a prayer in his head that whoever it was, they didn’t want him dead.

He was pleasantly surprised when he saw the familiar face, decorated with freckles that showed black against his fear-stricken pale face.

“Master Draco…” Sergio whispered. “Thank Merlin, you’re safe.”

He nodded. He forced his legs to support him and took a step closer to Sergio. “Take me to the castle.”

~~~~~~

They stumbled into the main hall together, One of Draco’s arms braced over Sergio’s shoulder. Sergio was tall enough that he was forced to hunch to support Draco’s body weight.

Lucius and Narcissa malfoy turned to stare at him. Narcissa meant to rush forward, but his father clicked his cane against the ground in front of her feet. He narrowed his eyes on Draco’s face. He must have been quite the sight to see in the morning -- bloody and bruised, black fingerprints on his throat, his arms and front stained with blood that wasn’t all his own.

Lucius took one step forward. His lip curled with disgust, as though he couldn’t stand to be any closer to someone as dirty as him, even if it were his own son.

Draco had the nerve not to bow. He collapsed on his knees and stared up at his mother and father.

“Ludo Bagman is dead.” He spit out. “And I’m not marrying _anyone."_


	7. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is so late someone stab me

The view of the sunset from the roof was breathtaking. Draco was almost able to forget about everything. He’d scrambled up the ivy on the outside wall from his bedroom window, a cloak wrapped tightly over his shoulders. He laid the cloak out along the hard tiles and sat down, lied back so he could stare at the sky as the sun made its departure.

He sucked in a gulp of freezing air. He could feel it in his throat, in his lungs, swirling in the cavern of his chest, as thin as smoke and cold as ice. He felt magnificently empty. Draco found the tense muscles in his shoulders loosen until they dropped, his chest heaving with a sigh. The light of the setting sun washed over him, warming him in the cool night air. If he could have felt anything akin to peace since the night before, this would be it.

That was, until he heard the sound of tiles clacking together behind him and he nearly fell from the roof in fear. The heel of Draco’s boot caught in the gutter as his fingers dug into the tile underneath him until he could feel them against his bones.

Draco knew who it was as soon as he heard. His parents had more dignity than to climb over the roof to see him. That, and they were still preoccupied with settling the princesses, ridding the manor of the anger that spurred up after Draco proclaimed his desire to remain unmarried.

He sat next to him. Draco’s eyes never left the orange clouds trailing across the sky. They were silent for a few moments -- Draco hadn’t managed to breathe yet -- until he spoke, his words cutting through the cool air.

“Er… hello, Draco.” Harry said.

His voice was low and rough. Draco didn’t turn to look at him, for fear of seeing the bruises that were likely spreading across his olive skin. Draco himself was faring worse. He dipped his fingers into his collar and pulled it up higher to obscure the blue handprint-shaped bruises that still wrapped around his neck.

Draco gave him a jerky nod and an aborted hum.

Harry sighed. His hands were knotted in the fabric of his cloak. Judging by his white knuckles and the bruises on his palms, he seemed to be having as much anxiety as Draco was.

They sat there for what could have been minute, or perhaps an hour, or an endless span of time. Draco didn’t dare breathe. He stared straight ahead, the harsh light of the setting sun burning into his eyes, until he heard Harry intake a breath from beside him.

“I was never really mad at you,” he whispered.

Draco barely heard him over the blood pounding in his own ears.

Harry lifted his fists and planted them in his lap. “I was just… hurt.”

Draco stayed frozen. His teeth were biting into the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He didn’t wince when he tasted it, metallic and sharp and warm on his tongue. Harry knew, Harry knew, _Harry knew --_

“Hermione… she told me to come off it. You don’t deserve this.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I realized what you’d done when you kissed me. Your father… well, I can understand a man like that.”

“Can you?”

The words came out harsher than Draco had intended. His voice was as weak as parchment, thin and raspy in his throat from the damage Ludo’s hands had done. The pain was apparent when he spoke. Even Harry seemed to wince at the sound of it.

Draco expected Harry to feel some shame. Hell, he half-expected Harry to reach out and shove him off the roof. Draco would have done it to himself if he were in Harry’s position. But Harry was full of surprises.

“My uncle…” He shook his head and grit his teeth. “Never mind. The point is I want you to talk to me. I’m _sorry._ ”

It was as if the whole world had dropped out from underneath him. As if he’d been caste with a confundus charm and _levicorpus_ all at once. The air came rushing out of his chest in a silent sob. His eyes closed against the orange sunlight.

_I’m sorry._

He couldn’t breathe. His fingernails dug into his own thighs. He felt a weight pressing against his back, the base of his throat, his shoulders, a burden that crushed him until his spine curled in on itself. He lifted his knees and wrapped his arms around them.

Draco collapsed against Harry’s side. Harry’s arms wrapped around his shoulder and held him, hugged him against his chest and held him there until he couldn’t move, could barely breathe with the pressure of it all. And Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck and pretended like he could stay in that moment for eons, on the rooftops during a sunset, wrapped in Harry’s knobbly arms, unafraid of the world or his parents or _anything._

He didn’t know if he started crying or not. He knew the path Harry traced from his ear was likely littered with bruises. The warm pressure of those fingers on his jaw was familiar. He knew the warmth of Harry’s fingertips on his jaw, under his chin, cupping his face until Draco forced his bleary eyes open to take in the boy in front of him. He knew the feeling of Harry’s lips on his own. Not some chaste, hasty kiss in the forest of London.

This was something warm, melancholy, and filled with the taste of cinnamon and resolved regrets.

Draco’s shaky hands let go of his trousers and twisted in Harry’s hair. He rubbed the soft, slightly oily strands through his knuckles and _kissed him,_ pressed their chests together until the hollow numbness in his chest was bursting with butterflies and songbirds.

When he finally came up for air, he felt like he was drowning. The water was pleasant. It filled his nostrils, his lungs, his rib cage, washed him out and left him limp and content, grounded only by the dig of Harry’s fingernails in his thighs.

He pulled his head away and gasped for air. He felt Harry’s breath over his cheeks. If he opened his eyes, he could have seen Harry’s eyelashes dance over the tops of his cheekbones. As it was, he could feel the whispy ends of his curls brush over his forehead. Draco’s fingers untwined from his hair and cupped the back of Harry’s neck. His thumbs found holds in the hook of Harry’s jawbone. He rubbed little circles into the soft hairs there. When he mustered up enough strength to open his eyes and look, he found a smile brighter than any sunset and crinkles in the corners of Harry’s eyes. His round glasses were askew on the bridge of his nose. Draco’s forehead had pressed them into Harry’s brow with the force of their kiss.

Draco fell on him again and left a whisper of a kiss at the corner of Harry’s mouth. He left a few words there as well.

“Come with me.”

~~~~~~

He wasn’t quite sure how they managed to climb from his roof to his bedroom window. He remembered tumbling through with fistfulls of Harry’s robes clutched to his stomach and a giggle bubbling up in his throat. The laugh was swallowed up when Harry pressed his hips against his desk. Teeth bit playfully at his bottom lip and dug into the curve of his neck. Harry laved his tongue over the marks, as if in apology, but Draco knew from the smile growing on his face that he felt no sorrow. His green eyes were drawn to the mess he was making on the pale column of skin before him.

Deft fingers undid the laces at his throat. Their lips collided again in a mess of teeth and tongue and awkwardly smushing their noses together on accident, and Draco couldn’t fathom how he ended up on his back, half naked, with Harry’s knees pressing his thighs to the mattress.

The fingernails digging into his back stung, but the bite of it all was _good_ \--

For some reason unbeknownst to him, he thought about all of the protective charms that riddled the walls of his bedroom.

When he was much younger, a maid had slapped him across the cheek for knocking a water pail onto his bedroom carpet. She was thrown back by the spells in the room and pinned high on the wall by invisible hands.

She’d screamed at him to let her down until he started crying -- at that point, Lucius had heard them. He went to bed with another red handprint on the other side of his face. Lucius was smart enough to take him outside the Manor before hitting him, as he always was.

Harry pressed another wet kiss to the spot where the soft skin of his stomach met his hipbone, the soft tip of his tongue flicking out at the very end of it. Draco bit the inside of his cheek and all thoughts of his father disappeared.

“Harry,” Draco whispered.

The man in question leaned up and back on his heels. His jacket had been discarded long ago, his white collared shirt unbuttoned haphazardly, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His chest was heaving under his open shirt, flushed red from his cheeks to his collarbones. “Is something wrong?” he asked, cocking his head a centimeter to the left.

Draco shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong. I just… I have to -- this has to be more than just. You know. _Just._ ” He felt his face grow hot, not from arousal, but embarrassment.

Harry’s mouth fell slack. He grit his teeth, his brows furrowed, gripped Draco firmly by the shoulders, flipped them over until Draco’s thighs were splayed over Harry’s hips, and pressed a kiss to his mouth.

The kiss was slow, in the way that a knife could be forced between your ribs slowly, as gentle as wind through flower petals, as painful as a bruise. Draco felt the warmth curling in his stomach grow more prominent and the fuzz in his head dissipate until he was left with the warm sensation of numb arousal and the heavy dizzy feeling from the lack of oxygen. He’d forgotten to breathe. Breathing wasn’t important when Harry was tangling his long fingers in Draco’s hair and sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

When they finally pulled away, Draco drew in a breath as shaky as a sob. His eyes were blown wide with shock, his pupils just as wide, dark with arousal. Harry pressed their foreheads together and grinned. The bridge of his glasses was cool against Draco’s brow. Draco had a feeling that Harry wanted to take his glasses off for comfort, but couldn’t bare to be unable to see Draco’s face. The thought made something else swell in in his stomach.

“It’s more,” Harry whispered. The air from his words fanned out over Draco’s swollen and red bottom lip. “It’s so much more. I’m not sure what it means at this point, if I lo -- I don’t know. All I know is that it hurts, and I want you, and whenever you’re in pain I feel that sting on my own back as well.”

He pressed their foreheads even closer until the sides of their noses were flush and Harry’s words splayed out between the millimeter of space between their lips.

“I don’t know if I love you yet, Draco Malfoy, but given time, I know that I will. It’s inevitable. I hated that, but now I couldn’t be happier.”

If Draco could have swooned while sitting down, he would have. As it was, he pulled back just enough to brace his forehead against Harry’s shoulder. His skin was warm here (that was redundant, at this point Harry was warm _everywhere_ ), and there were pretty little moles and freckles for Draco to trace with the pad of his forefinger. He drew a line over the sharp edge of Harry’s collarbone and fit his lips over the joint of Harry’s neck and shoulders. Harry’s broad hands rushed to support him at the small of his back, pressing them even closer together until they were flush from their thighs to their shoulders. Draco felt the aching heat between Harry’s legs press against his own arousal.

Without realizing what he was doing, Draco’s hips jerked forward and he bit down on Harry’s shoulder to hide the gasp that bubbled up in his throat. 

The results of his uninhibited action more than made up for the embarrassment.

Harry flipped them over, his hands still bracing the curve of Draco’s back, forcing him to lift his hips until Harry could fit one of the many soft pillows under it. Draco’s back arched up, partially supported by the mass of pillows at his headboard. The position was breathless and made him feel wonderfully out of control.

Harry shot him a wicked grin from under his long eyelashes and messy curls. Draco stopped speaking and forgot how to breathe.

Harry’s lips traced a path through the valley of his hip until he was met with the obtrusion of Draco’s underwear. He gave Draco’s pants a glare of contempt and tore them down his thighs. The fabric pooled around one of Draco’s ankles. He kicked it off, vaguely aware of it hitting his mirror and sliding down to the floor. With acres of empty, clear pale skin before him, Harry bit a new mark into the sharp edge of his lover’s hip bone and sucked, laving over the purpling bruise with the flat of his tongue.

He nibbled at the inside of his thigh, ignoring Draco’s leaking erection completely. Draco was so hard his cock rested fully against his stomach, his tip weeping precome. His thighs shivered, covered in goosebumps from Harry’s warm breath over his own cooling saliva from the myriad of marks he was leaving on Draco’s thighs.

He pressed a few kisses that might have been considered innocent if they weren’t inches from his lover’s cock. Harry nuzzled at the trail of soft blond curls that led down from Draco’s belly button. His cheek pressed against Draco’s cock in the process, startling a choked gasp from his lips.

“You really shouldn’t --” Draco whispered, biting at his bottom lip to hold back any noises. His face was already flushed at the cheeks from the number of mortifying noises that had come from his throat when he wasn’t paying attention. That, and the arousal that was bubbling in his blood like liquid fire.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Why not? If you come too quickly, we can keep going --”

Draco grit his teeth together. “It’s not that, but I wouldn't because I want you to know that if you do this I’m not going to reciprocate -- I’m not going to put my mouth on -- oh fuck oh _fuck,_ ”

A garbled noise left his throat. He gasped out, the sound caught halfway between a word and a groan, tangling on his tongue as his body turned to jelly beneath Harry’s fingers. And his goddamn _tongue._

Harry wrapped his palm around Draco’s cock and fitted his lips around the head, sucking gently as his tongue flicked over his slit. His tongue teased at his foreskin as his thumb rubbed torturously slow circles over the base of his cock. If Draco wasn’t shaking already, he was now.

Draco felt heat coiling up in his belly. Arousal concentrated in the soft parts of his wrists and ankles, and his toes as he curled them into the sheets underneath them. He couldn’t stop the pants that fell from his lips. Harry was growing bolder -- he used both of his hands to keep Draco’s squirming hips pressed firmly against the sheets and bobbed his head, his lips warm and wet over his cock, his tongue pressed against the underside and writhing, the very first part of his throat contracting _wonderfully_ over the sensitive head of Draco’s cock whenever Harry got brave enough to go deep. 

Draco swore loudly, his hand smacking over his own mouth in an afterthought. He didn’t know if anyone could possibly hear him, but the fear was instilled deep in his heart. 

It didn’t matter for long after that, for Harry had discovered if he dipped his head slowly and pressed his lips tight while soothing the palms of his hands over Draco’s hips and sides, Draco would get very, _very_ loud. His tongue flicked out and traced a circle around Draco’s slit.

He managed to get his fist in his lover’s hair and cry out a garbled curse in warning before he was coming, so intensely he forgot anything and everything except some stuttered form of _Harry,_ and the burning heat in his gut.

It took him a minute to relearn how to breathe and how to function afterwards, so long that Harry had already crawled up so he could curve against Draco’s side, his hand cradling Draco’s cheek in a gesture that was so fond it sent sparks of happiness through his chest.

Harry pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, then to his lips. Draco tasted salt.

It was a very Draco thing to do, after all. He was crying and smiling after getting a very thorough (and admittedly romantic) cock-sucking. His smile grew until he lifted his arms to cradle Harry’s face back and press their cheeks together.

“Me too,” he whispered.

Those two words, they were enough for now.

~~~~~~

If Draco could gauge time in the swell of his bottom lip, the marks on his hip bones and the curve of his shoulder, the imprint on his forehead from a pair of familiar round glasses, he could begin to estimate how long they lied there, in a pile of tangled limbs and messy lips.

He knew eventually the pressure of Harry against his thighs was too much to ignore, and after a few moments his arousal was stirring again, clearly trying for a full recovery. Harry’s hands kept him drifting in and out of a foggy haze of warmth and pleasure, not enough to get him off but just enough for his chest to heave and his eyes to flutter closed. Eventually the warmth in his gut became too much to satisfy with just the gentle pressure and wet slide of Harry’s fingers. He dug his fingernails into his lover’s shoulders and pushed him away just far enough to speak.

“More, Harry,” he whispered.

His voice was raw and broken in his throat. Harry’s eyes grew wide and his grip on Draco’s bare hips grew tighter.

“Is that -- do you mean --” Harry stuttered out

Draco looked up at him through his lashes, his eyes half lidded, a flush high on his cheeks and puff of air fell from his lips. He rolled his shoulders and curled his hands in the blankets underneath him. The pillow under his hips aided him in lifting them and moving them in tight little circles.

Harry’s Adam’s apple bobbed. 

He pulled away and kneeled off the side of the bed to rifle around in the desk beside the bed. Draco caught a glimpse of his cock through his clothes. His trousers were wrinkled and unbuttoned, the head of his cock peeking out from the waistband of his pants.

Harry resurfaced, his glasses crooked, a smile on his face, and a bottle of scented oil in his palm. Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Er… have you ever --” he mumbled, stumbling over his syllables. 

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle. “Harry, why the hell did you think I had oil in my bedside drawer?”

Harry’s face flushed, his jaw hanging. He stared at him like that for a few moments, dragging his gaze up and down, before he swallowed hard. “That’s… hot.”

Draco uncorked the bottle and shifted his legs, lifting his knees and scooting lower on the bed into a more comfortable position. He made to pour some of the oil onto his fingers, but Harry grabbed his fingers before he had the chance.

“Let me.” He urged. “I want to make you feel good.”

Those words alone sent a shiver down his spine that pooled in his thighs. He shifted his knees further apart and let Harry take the oil from his hands. He watched as Harry poured an ample amount onto his fingers and rubbed the liquid between them and his thumb to warm it up. The heat in his belly coiled tighter. His cock was hard and flush against his stomach, aching from being so hard for so long with little to no stimulation. 

Draco slid his hand down to grip his own cock the moment Harry pressed his thumb against his entrance. A low, pleased hum left his parted lips. He arched his back into the sensation, throwing his head back as he thumbed over his slit and Harry pressed a finger into him.

The sensation was different with Harry. It was hot and strange, more surprising and heady then anything he’d felt before.

Draco gasped and grabbed a handful of his lover’s hair in his fist. Harry kissed his collarbone. Harry looked up at him through his dark curls, the green of his irises blotted out by blackness and arousal. “Draco, do you want this?”

And Draco looked, and thought. He wanted to trace all remnant of the bruises on Harry’s body with his fingertips and lips, he wanted to etch new ones into his skin until Harry couldn’t tell the difference between old marks and new, he wanted to _feel_ him with no space between them and seal the memory into the forefront of his mind.

He nodded. Tears welled up in his eyes from the intensity of it all, from the emotion, from the stress, from the dizzy sparks of pleasure sparking in his bones as Harry slipped his finger deeper and curled it upwards.

Harry riffled through Draco like a well-worn book. He kissed marks into his thighs and soothed him with warm palms on his sides and gasps into his skin. Draco pulled him up and wrapped his forearm over Harry’s back. He caged his body in between his knees, pressing them closer when Harry curled his fingers -- there were two, now -- and rubbed at the edge of his entrance with his wet thumb. When Draco’s jaw dropped, his eyelids fluttered shut as his brows drew together, Harry did it again, and again until little choked gasps left his lips.

“Harry --” Draco blurted out. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, what he needed, but what Harry did in response was _perfect._

Harry withdrew his fingers -- Draco huffed in frustration -- and planted his wet hand on Draco’s hip. He fumbled with the bottle of oil with the other, eventually managing to spread too-much over his cock. He gripped himself in one hand, drew in a deep breath and pressed the head of his cock against Draco’s entrance.

Draco’s fingers curled up

The choked off sound that Harry made reverberated in his spine. Harry’s head hung low. Draco watched his lips moved as he shifted his hips further, pressing deeper inside of him. He _felt_ Harry twitch inside of him.

A whisper of Harry’s name left his lips. His hands were trembling where they gripped the bedsheets. He felt the bite of teeth on his neck and huffed, his hips jerking against the pressure of Harry’s hands pressing them to the bed. 

“Harry,” he choked out. His brain was so foggy with pleasure, it was difficult for him to form words. They all swarmed in his head, emotions and words and phrases that blurred together in a soup of need and want and _more_ and _harder_ and _fuck, I think I love you_.

What ended up leaving his mouth was something garbled (and embarrassingly high pitched) that sounded a bit like “Fuck, move… go faster.”

_Boy,_ was Harry good at following orders.

Harry fit his lips over the slope of Draco’s shoulder, bit down hard, and started moving his hips. 

It was clear to the both of them that they were trying to start slow. “Trying” being the operative word. Harry thrust his hips in slow circles, stopping to grind up desperately and chase the sensation of Draco around him. Draco wasn’t doing him any favors. His back was arched up until they were touching _everywhere_. He babbled obscenities into Harry’s ear in a quiet, breathy voice, his own vocal chords betraying himself. With Harry gripping his thighs the way he was, Draco had little to no space to move his own hips. He expressed his frustration with a whine and caged Harry’s hips in with his knees. He did his best to writhe lower. He needed it faster, more. Harry was shaking with the effort of staying at this slow, easy pace.

His blood was thrumming in his skin, vibrating like his magic, to intense for him to ignore. Draco wanted him to let _go._

There was plenty of time that night to go slow. What they needed right now was to be closer.

Harry lifted Draco’s thighs and threw them over his shoulder. Draco gasped as he felt himself bent in half. Whatever was happening at this angle was _fantastic,_ because he could barely breathe or do much more than moan and dig his fingers weakly into Harry’s biceps. 

He felt pressure building up in his gut, filling him with an electric sensation that concentrated in his wrists and ankles. Draco’s mouth fell open with a gasp. His head fell back against the bed, his eyelids falling half-mast. His chest heaved with breath. The feeling built, higher and higher until he couldn’t help but reach out and wind a hand in the tangle of curls at the top of Harry’s head. 

When he came, it was explosive. Harry wrapped a hand around his arousal and stroked over him with featherlight touches no more than three times. He fell apart at the seams.

Harry groaned, biting down on his neck as his thrusts grew erratic. Draco’s head swam at the feeling of Harry’s teeth on his neck, his hand on his cock and his hip, the growing warmth inside of him as Harry came… 

Harry met his eyes. His pupils overtook the brilliant olive green. His bottom lip was swollen, his hair tousled even more than usual. He looked beautiful. Draco rubbed the pad of his thumb over the swell of Harry’s bottom lip and the gentle slope of his cheekbone.

Draco cradled his face in both of his hands, pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and held him. He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of Harry’s neck as Harry nuzzled into the top of his head.

Draco laid his shaking hands on the sheets and faded back into the bed, into sleep, into the warm embrace around his waist and the soft pair of lips tracing gentle patterns over the back of his neck.

~~~~~~

There was a series of low thumps just outside their door. Someone was slamming their fist against the heavy oak. Harry startled awake. He lifted his head and made eye contact with Draco. Draco could see fear in his face. His hair was all ruffled and squashed on one side from sleep. His eyes were tired and rubbed raw by the backs of his fists. There was an indentation on the bridge of his nose that his glasses must have worn down after years of wearing them.

Draco held his hand tight and didn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more soon ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I was going to wait to post this until I was finished with the entirety of it, but I'm moving into my school in august, so I might as well knock this up there before I'm stressed to death with homework. So! Expect a new chapter every Sunday until all seven are up! I've currently finished the first four, and there should be seven total.
> 
> <3
> 
> I'm open for writing commissions! If you like me and my writing, and want to help me out, dm me on instagram (kelse_draws) or deviantart (kelse-draws) for more information.
> 
> $10 for 1k


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